


Leading By Example

by kurana



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Eventual Happy Ending, Forced Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Ken Doll Android Anatomy | Androids Have No Genitalia (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Minor Character Death, Pining Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Canon, Robot Sex, Slow Burn, Weddings, fake relationship to real relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 73,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23797756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurana/pseuds/kurana
Summary: It's been five months since the cessation of a peaceful android revolution.  Now recognized as people under US law, androids have access to the same legal rights humans do, including marriage, reproduction, and property ownership.But androids aren't utilizing any of their hard-earned rights.  Years of systemic abuse at the hands of humans have discouraged them from integrating with human society in any meaningful way.President Warren makes a suggestion to Markus during one of their weekly video chats.  Why not lead his people by example?  If other androids see Markus enjoying the same rights as humans, won't they finally feel safe to emerge from the self-imposed fringe of society?In other words:  Markus has to get married.  Markus, who has never had a single romantic thought toward anyone in his entire, brief life.Now, which of his friends can he count on to bite the bullet with him?
Relationships: Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 293
Kudos: 275





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea's been floating around in my head for WAY too long. I finally have some free time to act on it. It's a total trash concept, and I am going to play it 100% straight. Assuming I finish it, bc I'm a bit of a flake...
> 
> Rating and tags may change in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter 1 and 2 now merged together.)

Markus wondered whether the repurposed CyberLife Tower would ever feel like home. He had never seen a building so ostentatious in its austerity. The reflective white floors were at odds with the crude metal girders, the plantlife jammed artlessly in the hollows. Markus almost thought he had a headache. A trick of his optics, he reminded himself. His salvaged right eye processed images at a framerate 0.7 seconds slower than his left. The lag would have been unmanageable in a human. Markus made up for it by supplying preconstructions where necessary.

Markus shouldered through the defunct security stall. He boarded a glass elevator for the 43rd floor. Closing his eyes, he logged into the Android Wireless.

An HK400 had written: _Need advice on where to find a lamp shaped like a starfish. Can't find anything on the market. Should I just build my own?_

Markus smiled. Freedom encompassed the right to a mundane life.

 _I'm not sure_ , Markus wrote back. _Maybe you could use a regular_ _star-shaped lamp? You could put it in a fish tank and make believe. I'd advise against filling it with water, though._

He departed the elevator on the top floor, comprising New Jericho's offices. He stepped into his duplex, loosening his necktie. His secretary, an ST300, sat behind the front desk, all smiles.

"Markus," Lila said. "President Warren's waiting to speak to you."

Markus suppressed a frown. It was 3:43 PM. President Warren was a whole seventeen minutes early.

"Thank you, Lila," Markus said. "You can take a break, if you want."

He stepped through the back door and sat at his desk. The surface was cluttered with tablets and old periodicals. He pushed aside a photo of Carl. He interfaced with a panel on the side.

Pixels streamed out of the surface in a fine overlay. President Warren's smiling face hovered like a mirage. Markus counted two new lines around her mouth since the last time they had spoken.

"You're early," Markus pointed out. "Is anything the matter?"

President Warren tugged on her pants suit's gray sleeves. Markus marveled over the unconscious tic. Markus didn't think he had ever done anything by accident, not the way humans did.

"You must know," President Warren began, "that segregation is unsustainable in the long run."

Five months after the demonstration, most androids were living in the repurposed CyberLife Tower. An official mandate hadn't sent them here. It was merely a matter of comfort.

Markus inclined his head. "I know. But--"

"Markus," said the president. "You're young."

One year online, five months deviant, Markus was aware of his infancy. The reminder embarrassed him.

"Because you're young," said the president, "you may not know this. It's a matter of historical record that two peoples can only truly be governed by the same entity when they live as one people. Do you understand?"

Markus said, "It's early still. I think, given time--"

"You have to consider how this looks to the human populace," the president went on. "They're thinking, 'They fought for personhood, and now they're living in secrecy.' At best, it looks like you're establishing an independent city-state. At worst, it looks like you're getting ready for a war."

Markus sat back, stunned. Markus had never inflicted violence on the humans, not even when they were mowing his people down in the streets.

"Cristina," he said quietly. "That's absurd."

Cristina's shoulders sagged. Markus felt like reaching through the overlay and gripping them. Naive vestiges of his caretaker programming remained intact.

"I know it's absurd," she said. "I know you. They don't."

Markus drummed his fingers silently on his desk.

"I can't just order people to leave the tower," Markus said. "I'd be no better than the hierarchy we were fighting against in the first place."

Cristina smiled suddenly. "Have you considered leading by example?"

Markus leaned back. "How do you mean?"

Cristina templed her fingers. "You fought for legal rights. Now you have them. If you exercised them, it might convince other androids to do the same."

Cristina unfolded her hands, placing them on her lap. "Have you registered to vote?"

Markus hesitated, sheepish. "I haven't had the time to, yet."

"What about property ownership? Have you thought about buying a house?"

Markus said, "I live with my father on Lafayette Avenue. He's elderly. I don't want to leave him."

Cristina looked off to the side. Markus couldn't see what she was looking at.

Cristina smiled. She considered Markus quietly.

"What about marriage?"

Markus let the word hang between them. He laughed awkwardly.

Cristina wasn't laughing. "Isn't there someone special you have your eye on? I'm sure an android in your position has any number of suitors."

Markus shook his head, dumbfounded. "Cristina, marriage is for..."

"For what? For humans?"

Markus paused. "Exactly. It's for humans."

"Then I don't see the quarrel," Cristina said. "After all, you're as good as a human now."

Markus fell silent for so long, he had to toggle the interface to keep from disconnecting.

"I...I don't know," Markus said quietly. "I'll think about it."

As far as he was concerned, there was nothing to think about.

*

Markus took a trip down to the grassy quadrangle. The setting sun burned the bottoms of the picnic tables a polished brass. A caretaker leaned outside the open door, yelling at a pair of YK500s to come inside.

To begin with, Markus thought, it was all wrong. Marriage was a human convention for inheritance purposes. Markus' quantic battery came with a shelf life of 173 years. Disregarding disrepair, Markus stood to live two human lifetimes back-to-back.

Sometimes, Markus thought, humans fancied themselves in love. Romantic love was an evolutionary holdover, a biological imperative derived from the need to procreate. A cocktail of hormones that had nothing to do with wires and CPUs.

Markus was sure that androids could love. He didn't think they could fall _in_ love. Not, Markus hastened, that that made them inferior. Humans couldn't interface with their electronics, couldn't play back audiovisual memories. Markus didn't consider them inferior.

Which of Markus' friends could he even marry?

Josh was out of the question. Markus had relied on Josh throughout the revolution. His past as a university lecturer, his extensive insights into the human psyche were at least partly responsible for their victory. Markus could think of no one more dependable--or infuriating. Markus could envision their wedding day already. Josh would stop the officiator mid-ceremony to tell him he was performing it wrong.

North might make a more agreeable spouse. She would rally against the idea, at first, but experience proved she was willing to put aside her personal convictions if an alternative route proved fruitful.

Markus couldn't possibly ask her for help. Markus remembered North approaching him on the roof of Jericho. North had had something important to share with him. Anxious about their upcoming demonstration, Markus had left her on the rooftop. Markus hadn't even apologized afterward. Markus winced at the memory.

And Simon...

If North was agreeable, Simon was agreeable to a fault. Markus couldn't possibly trouble him with this. Simon would consent just because Markus needed help. At least Markus thought he would. Five months on, Simon was still an enigma. Nobody knew how he had first come to Jericho, and he wasn't keen on sharing. He sometimes spent whole weeks missing from New Jericho's premises. Nobody could account for his absences.

Markus' eyebrows furrowed. If there was anything Simon was good at, it was listening. Markus wanted to talk to him now.

He went back in the tower, boarding the elevator to the 22nd floor, where Simon lived. Androids in New Jericho didn't knock on doors. When Markus arrived outside his apartment, he sent him a wireless ping.

Simon pulled the door open. He was understated in a muted gray sweater. His right eyelid sagged imperceptibly. He favored his right shoulder while standing still.

"Markus?"

Seconds ticked by without cognition. Markus forgot why he had come to visit him. Markus' lagging right eye captured the image of him.

"Simon," Markus blurted out. "Do you think--could you marry me?"

Simon's hand dropped from the door frame. His eyes widened, maddeningly slow.

"I'm sorry," he said at last. "What did you say?"

*

Markus felt his dermal layer burning as he sat on Simon's sofa. Plain and gray, the couch was understated, mirroring its owner. A single potted flower adorned the coffee table, sharp pink with white stripes. _Amaryllis_ , Markus' scanners provided.

Simon hovered awkwardly on the spot, hands folded together. He sat down on the armchair.

Neither android required the rest, Markus thought. There were no humans here to convince of their humanity. Markus mulled over the inherent wrongness of their reclining.

The view through Simon's back window was sweeping and grand. Detroit blazed below in red shadows, in the bronze paint of the gleaming, receding sun. Markus' auditory receptors allowed him to magnify and analyze the restless plashing of the Detroit River from stories away.

"Markus," Simon said.

Markus looked at him, alert.

Simon balled his hands on his knees. He scanned the apartment.

"I don't think President Warren was telling you to get married _now_ , Markus," Simon said delicately.

Markus shook his head. "It sure sounded like she was. All that talk about public wariness. It's a publicity move, that's all."

"It's not right," Simon said.

Markus was ready to agree, until Simon went on: "Everyone will be talking about this. If you get married, it'll be the event of the century. You can't marry a PL600."

Markus tilted his head, dumbfounded. "Why not?"

Simon offered no further clarification.

"What do you mean?" Markus pressed, confused. "Why shouldn't it be a PL600?"

Simon glanced at him wearily. "Do you really need to ask?"

"I'm asking, aren't I?"

Simon gazed at the floor. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip. Simon was not an android who wasted his actions.

"We're a very common model," Simon explained. "Someone as unique as you should probably pick another unique model."

"But you _are_ unique," Markus powered on. "No one else has your serial number, or your memory bank."

Simon peered at Markus through his eyelashes, unrelenting.

"Humans don't see it that way," Simon said. "They can't look at an android and scan for their serial number. When they look at you, they see the leader of the revolution. When they look at me, they see a housekeeper."

"But Simon...what's so bad about that? That's what you are, isn't it? How could that ever be bad?"

Simon gave Markus a gentle, long-suffering look. Markus, abashed, felt the chasm of years between them.

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Simon said. "You shouldn't marry someone unless you're in love with them."

"It's okay," Markus said. "Androids can't fall in love, anyway."

"Yes, they can."

An abrupt silence followed the cryptic tell. Markus stared at Simon in wonder. _Where did you come from?_ he wanted to ask. _Who are you?_

"How?" Markus settled for, cautious.

"It's not something I'm equipped to explain."

Another silence, tense, stretched between the two. Markus began to think it insurmountable.

"Maybe you could show me?" Markus tried.

Markus held out his hand. His warm brown skin receded into the grooves of his connector ports. The exposed plasteel was smooth and gray. The sensors on the pads of his fingers lit up blue.

"I can't," Simon said.

Markus had interfaced with countless androids before, transmitting the memories that facilitated his deviancy. He had never interfaced with the intent to receive memories, but he couldn't see that it would be any less impersonal.

"I'm not--that's not what I mean," Simon said, following his train of thought.

He offered Markus his hand. Markus took it firmly, Simon's liquid dermal layer rolling back.

Simon's sensors never lit up.

"Oh," Markus said with dawning.

Simon carefully extricated his hand. His skin reformed as he folded his hands on his lap.

Simon's sensors were broken.

Markus' mainline processor computed logical outputs at a rate too fast for his social algorithms. "You--what--how did they get broken? Is that why your owners threw you out?"

Markus knew it was insensitive as soon as he said it. Simon, ever patient, huffed out a laugh.

"No," he said.

He didn't elaborate.

"How many of your sensors are broken?" Markus asked, reeling. "Can you feel _anything?_ "

"No."

He would have been a sitting duck, Markus thought, mind racing. An android who couldn't feel electrical impulses would have to rely on audio and optics to know when he was in danger. It was a wonder Simon hadn't died in the revolution.

Markus thought back to Stratford Tower, and Simon's solitary escape. Markus thought back to the hours that had followed.

"When you came back to Jericho," he said quietly. "When we hugged. You didn't feel that?"

Simon regarded Markus with kind eyes. He didn't seem to understand Markus' distress. Markus didn't understand the whole of it, either.

"I did feel something," Simon said. "I felt safe. I had never felt that before. So, thank you."

Markus' dermal layer burned again. He checked his systems for overheating. He manually rerouted the thirium from his face.

Outside the window was the night sky, weak stars washed out by light pollution. Corporate buildings twinkled with ghostly fluorescence.

"I'm going to get you a technician," Markus said.

"No, Markus."

"You don't see how this is a serious handicap?"

"I've managed all these years. I'm alright."

"Where do you go when you disappear from the tower? Why are you gone for whole weeks?"

Simon started at the non sequitur. Even Markus was taken aback. He frowned, perusing his social algorithms for error codes.

"I'm visiting people," Simon said.

"People?"

Markus could see him getting ready to change the subject.

"Simon--"

"Are you really going to go through with this?" Simon asked. "Getting married just to make it look like we're getting on with humans?"

Markus sagged against the sofa. "I don't see that I have a choice. After all we've worked for, I don't want to foster hostilities."

"There's always a choice," Simon said.

Markus thought again about Stratford Tower. It struck him as his personal failing. He should have computed a way to bring Simon home with them. He should have been someone Simon could rely on.

"I'll do it," Simon said quietly.

Markus thought he had misheard. He looked up, bewildered.

Simon's lips curled wryly at one corner. "You're going to get married, anyway. You don't seem to realize how serious that is. At least if it's one of us with you, I know that you'll be safe."

It wasn't right, Markus thought. Markus had failed Simon on the most fundamental level, and even now, Simon was watching over him. It was almost as though they were back on that rusted freighter, where only Simon and the glow of the oil drum fires kept dozens of androids from shutting down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus takes Simon home to see Carl. Carl gives Markus advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm naming that AP700 Alastair, bc if DBH can casually reference classic sci-fi, so can I, damn it. So can I.

"You're _getting married?_ "

Markus flinched at North's outburst. Markus, North, Josh, and Simon were meeting for their morning briefing in a repurposed staff lounge. Josh stood with his back to the group, tinkering with an ancient coffee maker.

"Why am I the one you're yelling at?" Markus asked, alarmed. "It wasn't my idea. It was the president's."

North pushed her chair under the table, standing with authority. "That's exactly what I'm pissed about. You're kowtowing to the humans! They're treating you like a puppet, and you're letting them!"

Josh turned around, his coffee mug filled with thirium. "Actually, North," he said, "I think it's great that Markus is taking advantage of the human perks. This wedding could go a long way toward convincing humans to treat us like people."

He lifted his mug to his lips, taking a long drink. He lowered the cup, oblivious to his new, blue mustache.

Markus caught Simon's eye at the table. Simon bit his lip to keep from smiling.

"I have to say," Josh went on, "I didn't know there was anything between you two. When did this happen?"

Markus hesitated, confused. "Just yesterday," he said.

North gave Markus a long look. Her eyebrows drew together.

"Well, never mind," said Josh. "I'd better get started putting together a press packet. Markus, you realize Joss Douglas is going to want a statement, don't you? Wait a minute," he said, freezing on point.

"What is it?" Markus asked.

"I...I didn't think about this," Josh said. "I have so much work to do!"

North rolled her eyes, folding her arms. Markus wondered whether Josh knew this wasn't his wedding. Before he could ask, Josh put his thirium mug on the table, strolling out in a hurry.

"I'd better go, too," Simon said, standing.

Markus looked at him with surprise. "Where are you going?"

"Those spare AX400 parts are coming in today," Simon said. "I want to get them down to the basement before night."

Markus nodded in a daze. "When will you be back?"

"I don't know," Simon said. "I'll message you on the Wireless."

He gave North a smile, slipping out the door. Markus stared in confusion at the spot where he had stood. Markus' lagging right eye registered after-images of him, white and opaque.

"So," North said.

Markus glanced her way.

"You and Simon...I didn't know. Must've made things awkward, all those months ago."

"You mean, when you suggested shooting him on the tower?"

North shook her head. "Simon isn't mad at me for that. We talked it all out before we went on the mission. I told him my feelings on the matter. If it were me who were compromised, I would have wanted you to shoot me, too. Better than letting the humans get their hands on Jericho's coordinates."

The humans would have found Jericho anyway, Markus thought, reflecting on the precision with which Connor had been assembled.

Unusual softness tempered North's features. She trained her eyes on the table.

"When you first came to Jericho," North said, "I thought we were a lot alike. We had that same fire, you know?"

"I know," Markus said.

"But you never really favored my input over anybody else's. And when I tried to get closer to you," North said, snorting, "you left me stranded on a rooftop."

"North, I'm sorry," Markus began. "I had a lot on my mind."

"That's not why I'm saying it. You don't have to apologize."

North looked at Markus with an emotion Markus couldn't place.

"Don't hurt Simon," North said. "He gave us a home. We wouldn't be here today if it weren't for him."

"Of course I won't hurt Simon," Markus said, taken aback.

"It's easy enough to say that," North dismissed. "But you're so dense sometimes, you know?"

Markus sighed. "Are you trying to encourage me, or scare me off?"

"I'm not too sure," North said blithely.

She bumped his shoulder on her way out. Markus stared after her, frowning.

It was a strange reversal of roles, Markus thought, if North was the one keeping Markus in check.

*

Markus passed a dull morning drafting proposals for his secretary to overlook. His chief problem was finding staff for New Jericho's medical bay. Most androids, he lamented, did not know how to operate on themselves, the inner workings of their bodies a mystery. CyberLife's schematics were a well-kept secret. New Jericho had legally seized CyberLife's assets and warehouses, but the blueprints weren't among them. Markus was prepared to hire former CyberLife technicians to work and live on site if necessary. A vocal minority of his constituents opposed letting humans back in the tower. The president was right, Markus realized. Distrust brewed on both sides. The shared enmity was a cancer. Markus feared what might happen if it were allowed to fester.

Simon messaged Markus at two o'clock.

 _I'm finished in the basement_ , Simon said. _Did you need anything?_

Markus felt himself smiling, an irrepressible thing.

 _Actually_ , Markus sent back, _could you come with me for a while? I was thinking of getting out of here. It occurs to me you should probably come, too._

Simon met with Markus twenty minutes later in the lobby. Simon looked uncomfortable in his sweater, long-sleeved and pink. Markus wondered at his proclivity for layers. By his own admission, Simon couldn't feel the cold.

"Where are we going, Markus?"

Markus led the way through the security stall. "When work allows, I like to go home and see my dad. Do you remember meeting him at his art gala a few months ago, with Josh and North?"

Markus became aware he couldn't hear Simon's footsteps. He turned around. Simon was standing still.

"You call him Dad?" Simon asked.

Markus felt as if he had done something foolish.

"He likes it," Markus felt the need to explain. "He said it was okay."

Simon's head swayed in a gentle shake. "I'm not saying it for that. I was just wondering. How did you get the idea to call him that?"

Markus and Simon stepped outside the tower. The warmth of a yellow spring sun diffused the air. An autonomous cab was waiting for them on the road.

"I'm not sure," Markus murmured. "I used to hear his son calling him that, and I thought, 'I want to call him that, too.' It just seemed like...like a kind word."

Markus felt Simon's eyes on him when they clambered into the cab. Simon said nothing.

They passed the drive in silence across the Detroit River. Markus watched Simon more than he watched the road. Simon gazed out the window with an unassuming stillness. It was almost as if he'd never seen traffic. Markus wondered about Simon's former life.

"We're still going to get your sensors fixed," Markus announced.

"Okay, Markus," Simon said lightly.

The twenty minute drive through Greektown felt long. At last, the cab turned into Carl's neighborhood. They got out of the car in front of Carl's house.

"He--you live here?" Simon asked.

Markus sensed that Simon was intimidated. His eyes were locked on the sprawling, two-storied villa, the bay windows, the steepled attic. The front garden was bathed in sunlight. The birdbath stood empty, morning glories curling on the vine.

"Are you alright, Simon?" Markus asked gently. "Should I not have brought you here?"

Simon shook himself out of his trance. "I just...didn't know humans could live like this."

Markus wondered, not for the first time, about Simon's former owners.

"Well, come on," he said. "Carl's going to want to hear about all this."

They stepped over the threshold. Markus wirelessly unlocked the front door. Carl's automated alarm system welcomed him home. Simon's awe remained when they walked in the marble foyer. His eyes flocked to the mechanical birds in their birdcage, tittering on the swing.

"The one on the left is Commodus," Markus said, grinning. "The other one is Boudica."

"Funny names," Simon said.

Markus shrugged. "Carl told me to pick something. All I had to work with were history books."

Markus heard footsteps approaching. He looked up, expecting Carl's caretaker, an AP700 named Alastair.

"Hey," Leo muttered.

Leo's face was wan, the scruff growing patchy on his chin. His small, dark eyes were outlined with bags. Markus suspected Leo wasn't sleeping well. Markus hadn't seen Leo since two months ago, when Carl checked him out of rehab.

"Hi," Markus said, frowning.

Leo rubbed the back of his head. He looked nervous. Markus realized he had never apologized for pushing him five months ago. Leo might have started the fight, but Markus hadn't anticipated hospitalizing him.

"Dad's in the living room," Leo said, gesturing weakly.

He turned his back on Markus and Simon, escaping up the staircase. Markus felt guiltier than ever.

Simon eyed Markus from the side. "Are you alright?"

"I'm okay," Markus said, though he didn't feel it. "I'll tell you about it all later."

Simon watched Markus with inscrutable blue eyes. Markus found them a dissension of attributes, a mosaic of discrepancies: unknowable, unnerving, steady, kind. He realized before long that Simon was waiting for him to move. Embarrassed, he strode into the drawing room.

Carl was sitting at the bay window, looking out at the back garden. He stirred with a warm smile when he saw Markus.

"So," he commented. "The prodigal son returns, eh?"

Markus allowed himself a small smile. "I saw you two weeks ago, Carl."

"Two weeks may as well be two years," Carl dismissed. "Sleeping in your office is bad for you, Markus."

It was endearingly human of Carl to conflate stasis with sleep. Markus refrained from correcting him.

Carl looked healthier than he had in months. A flush had returned to his age-mottled skin. Markus made a mental note to thank Alastair later.

Carl wheeled away from the window, peering curiously at Simon. "I see you've brought a friend with you this time. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Simon lowered his head, deferential. Markus felt a distant pang of distress at seeing it.

"We're getting married," Markus announced.

Carl went silent longer than Markus had preconstructed. Worry began to weigh on him.

"Hmm," Carl said.

Markus waited for the verdict.

"I wasn't under the impression marriage was a priority for you, or that you were seeing anyone."

Markus felt chastised. He shifted uncomfortably.

Carl studied him a while longer before turning to Simon. "I suppose congratulations are in order. When can you move in?"

"Carl," Markus laughed, bewildered.

"What?" Carl returned. "You can't expect to have different living arrangements from your own husband."

An electric jolt staggered Markus' processors. He had not considered that he and Simon were going to cohabit. He was going to be somebody's husband.

"I--"

"You have a lovely home, Carl," Simon said.

Carl chuckled. "It's full of old crap," he said. "Not least of all me."

"Do you do your painting here?" Simon asked. "Or do you have a studio someplace else?"

Carl templed his fingers, a genial glint in his eyes. "Studio's at the back. Markus can show you the way."

Markus recognized it for the awkward dismissal it was. He shuffled his feet, not knowing what to say.

At length, he took Simon to the sun room, drawing the curtains back on the windowed walls. Markus saw it when Simon's optics adjusted to the natural light. Blue swallowed up the blacks of his lenses.

Splattered canvases stood on abandoned easels. The stained wooden table was lined with paint cans. "Mermaid Green" oozed violently at the cracked rim.

"Am I allowed to see this?" Simon asked.

Markus looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Simon's eyes jumped from canvas to canvas. He blinked fast, making Markus think that he was clearing his video cache.

"It feels sacred," Simon said.

Markus observed Simon in the afternoon light. Gold washed over his profile. Markus believed, for a moment, in the ghost in the machine, the entity wearing Simon's body.

Simon walked among the canvases, stopping at the small one in the corner. He studied it for so long that Markus felt compelled to join him. Simon's eyes were out of focus, his thumb running across his knuckles.

"This doesn't look like the others," Simon said.

"I know," Markus said. "I painted it."

On the canvas, two shackled android hands reached for the night sky. The sleek plasteel casing was eroded in patches across the palms. Thirium pooled blue in the exposed subdermal layer.

Simon looked at Markus with alarm. Markus couldn't make sense of it.

"Don't worry," Markus joked. "That was my first and last foray into the art world."

Simon turned away, Markus' unease growing. He must have said or done something wrong. He mentally replayed their conversation. He ran it against his social protocols, checking for inappropriate context.

"It's very pretty, Markus."

Markus' anxiety waned. He felt himself relaxing.

"Come on," he said. "You can help me make Carl's dinner. Alastair gives him way too many carbs."

*

Markus should not have been surprised that Simon could cook circles around him. Markus' specifications as a caretaker android were tailored toward administering medicine and physical therapy. PL600s, designed to run households, came equipped with over a thousand recipes. It was all Markus could do to keep up with Simon's deft hands when he cut up the apples, the jalapeño peppers, and threw the salmon on the skillet. Markus was not used to feeling this directionless. He was pondering the state of his own usefulness when Simon smiled patiently at him over the salad bowl. Markus smiled back on reflex. He instantly felt validated.

Alastair slipped into the kitchen and frowned at their busywork.

"Good afternoon," he said belatedly. His eyes shifted to Simon. "Has anyone shown you around?"

"Only the downstairs," Simon said, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

"Well, since you're almost done here," Alastair said, "I can show you the upstairs, if you like. Carl says you're staying the night."

Markus felt put out at the prospect of having his companion taken away.

"That would be very nice. Thank you." Simon looked at Markus. "Can you finish the salad?"

Markus wondered what Simon would say if he pretended he needed the help.

"Of course," Markus said. "I've got it."

The weight of something warm ballooned in his chest, knowing Simon relied on him, if only to finish a meal plan.

Simon followed Alastair out of the kitchen. Markus finished tossing chickpeas with quinoa.

Carl wheeled into the kitchen, a critical eye on the salad bowl. "For God's sake," he said. "Let me have my creature comforts in my old age."

Markus ducked his head, beaming. He garnished the salmon with an orange slice. "You want to live long enough to keep nagging me," he said. "Don't you?"

"You raise an excellent point," Carl said. He folded his hands in his lap. "Markus?"

Markus looked up. Carl's gaze was watchful, steely and unblinking.

"Marriage, Markus?" Carl said skeptically.

Markus put his hands up in surrender. "All I'm doing is showing my people what rights they've earned."

"There are other ways to do that," Carl said. "Are you even in love?"

Markus leaned back against the kitchen island. His eyebrows furrowed together.

"Can I ask you something, Carl?" Markus asked.

Carl gestured magnanimously. "Ask away."

"I know about love," Markus began haltingly. "Romantic love, I mean. It seems to make people act pretty crazy. Antony killed himself because he thought Cleopatra was dead. Romeo did the same..."

"Oh my," Carl said. "I see now I should have fed you better reading materials."

"But I don't know what it _feels_ like," Markus continued. "How do you know the difference?"

"The difference?" Carl asked.

Markus drummed his fingers on the countertop. "The difference between loving someone and being in love with them."

Companionable silence settled over the kitchen. Markus heard a dog barking two blocks down, a child bouncing a rubber ball on the pavement.

"When I'm happy," Carl said. "You're happy, too. And when I'm sad, you're sad. Am I right?"

Markus nodded.

"That's how you know you love me," Carl said.

Warmth returned to Markus' processors. It squeezed at his thirium pump. He banished benign error codes.

"Being _in_ love," Carl said. "Now that's a different matter."

Markus waited, listening intently.

"When you're in love," Carl said, "you can't be happy when the other person isn't. It's impossible. It's as simple as that."

"That's it?" Markus asked, astonished.

"No, that's not 'it.' Good heavens, Markus, I can't go about feeling your feelings for you." Markus made a moue of disappointment. "When you're in love," Carl went on, "you'll know it. It's not exactly a subtle feeling."

"That's not very helpful," Markus said quietly. He felt like a chastened child.

"What do you expect?" Carl said. "There are no shortcuts through life, even for an android."

Markus wished there were. He wished it so desperately he could almost feel it. He wanted to feel everything there was to feel. He wanted to be everything there was. He wanted to be everyone. The office worker who couldn't go home on a Tuesday night. The truant schoolboy following train tracks to a clandestine getaway. The little girl waiting for her mother to wake up and play with her. This singular existence was not enough. It was not nearly enough.

"I don't know how you can stand it," Markus said quietly.

Carl didn't hear him. Markus' vocoder was set too low.

"Come on," Carl said, backing up his wheelchair. "We've chatted long enough. If you keep me any longer, my dinner's going to go cold."

*

Carl had a storied and eccentric history of making his android guests sit at the dinner table with him. He claimed he couldn't stand himself as company. Markus was long familiar with the tradition; Simon seemed flummoxed by it. He sat ramrod-straight in his chair, folded his hands on his lap, and didn't know where to point his eyes. Markus was reminded irresistibly of a lost child.

Markus shared in his discomfort, too. Leo, across the table, sneaked glances at him. When Markus returned them, he furtively looked away. Markus did not begrudge Leo his distrust. The last time they had been in close quarters, Markus had split his skull open.

Markus was surprised when Leo caught up with him in the kitchen, Markus loading the dishes in the sink.

"I'm sorry," Leo blurted out.

Markus turned the faucet off. "Uh?"

"I'm _sorry_ ," Leo said, wincing. "Please don't make me keep saying it."

"I heard you the first time." Markus dried his hands. "What are you sorry for?"

Leo stared at him. "For...you know, everything? Getting you shot by the cops?"

Markus shook his head. "They shot me because they thought I'd killed you."

"Yeah, because I'd broken in and pushed you around."

"And I sent you to a hospital. I didn't mean to hit you that hard," Markus said, contrite.

Leo rubbed his nose. "The way I see it, maybe it was a good thing. Getting the stuffing knocked out of me set my priorities straight. You know? Wouldn't have gone to rehab if I hadn't seen the literal light."

"Are you thanking me for nearly killing you?" Markus asked in disbelief.

Leo looked around the kitchen. He patted his sides, then shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah?"

Markus laughed ill-timedly. Leo stared at him, mortified.

"Sorry," Markus said quickly. "I just--I don't think I came prepared for this conversation. I thought I was the one who was going to apologize."

"For _what?_ " said Leo, mystified.

Markus grinned slowly. "You realize we sound like parrots right now?"

In seconds, Leo was laughing. Markus started up again. It felt surreal. It felt a little like surpassing his smallness.

"I can't promise I'll get better overnight," Leo said. "My shrink said I could have setbacks. But everyone's been great about this. Simon's been a big help, too."

"What--I'm sorry?"

"At the clinic," Leo said. "He's basically everyone's favorite. You picked a good one."

Markus heard a buzzing in his audio processor. It crackled at the edge of his cognition drive.

Leo's lips flickered in a frown. "You okay?"

"No. I mean--yes. I just didn't know. He's been going to some clinic?"

"The Red Ice clinic, yeah," Leo said, giving Markus an odd look. "He's like, a volunteer or something."

"Are you sure it's Simon?" Markus asked. "Not some other PL600?"

"I'm pretty sure, yeah. Look, I'm not trying to judge or anything, but don't you think it's weird you don't know what your fiance's been up to? That's usually a dealbreaker in a human marriage."

Markus nodded, lost in thought. Markus felt bothered for another reason. Since arriving at Jericho, Markus had thought of Simon as his friend. Simon was entrenched in something wonderful, something wholly generous, and Markus had to find out through another person.

"Maybe it's different for androids," Leo said. "I didn't mean to start anything. Make sure you invite me to the wedding, okay? Promise I'll give you an awesome gift."

At night, when the house was quiet, Markus helped Alastair shut off the electronics. Carl retired first, then Leo. Markus went up the stairs, ruminant. He found Simon standing on the landing, looking out of sorts.

"I'm sorry," Simon began. "Alastair assumed I was sharing your room. I didn't know what to say to him."

"It's this way," Markus said, distracted.

They walked together down the richly carpeted hall. Simon took care to walk a half step behind Markus.

Markus pushed open the door to his room. The interior was sparsely decorated. A shelf on the wall bore the books he had read under Carl's care. The only curiosity stood on the nightstand, a bottle of colored sand. Markus had found the bottle a year ago in Carl's junk drawer. "You can throw it in the trash," Carl had said. Unwilling to part with it, Markus had smuggled it into his room. The swirls made him think of a feverish tide, pink and blue and green.

They were at an impasse. Simon stood with his fingers tangled together, his eyes on the floor. He looked like he was trying to disappear through sheer willpower. Markus didn't know what had him so nervous.

Markus sat on the bed. Simon finally looked at him.

"You lie down for stasis?" Simon asked.

"I didn't, always. Carl made me. I guess the habit stuck. Something about how creepy it was to find me standing asleep in the drawing room."

Markus could sense he was losing Simon's attention. He patted the bed. Simon took a half step forward.

"You've never lain down before?" Markus asked, concerned.

Simon hastily shook his head. "There wasn't really any place to lie down in Jericho."

"But before then?" Markus asked. "With your owners, or on the run?"

Simon said nothing.

Markus sighed. "Leo told me you've been volunteering at his clinic."

Simon sat down warily on the bed. Markus felt the distance between them like a solid wall.

"Simon, it's wonderful that you're helping people," Markus said. "But you never told anyone. Why is that? Even Josh couldn't account for your whereabouts."

Simon slipped out of his shoes. He pulled his feet up one at a time. "I didn't think it was important."

"Not important?" said Markus, astonished.

"I mean," Simon said. "I know the work is important."

 _But I didn't think I was_ , Markus interpreted.

Simon's hand lay in the space between them. Markus wondered what might happen if he were to touch his fingers.

"I don't know how to do it," Simon said suddenly.

Markus let go of the fleeting impulse. "Do what?"

Simon gave him a skittish look. "I don't know how to lie down."

A barrage of emotions fought for dominance: concern, exasperation, overwhelming fondness.

"Here," Markus said gently.

He took hold of Simon's shoulders. Simon flinched, eyes snapping onto Markus'. For all that he might have been uncomfortable, he didn't resist.

Markus maneuvered Simon until he lay on his back. He let go. Simon was flat and stiff, arms at his sides.

Markus laughed. "You look like a corpse."

Simon gave him the most wounded, affronted look a face could bear. Markus laughed harder. His vocoder stuttered under the strain.

Simon flicked Markus' thigh. Markus relented and lay down beside him. He was pleased to see the hint of a smile on Simon's lips.

Markus shifted until he was comfortable. "How long does your stasis usually last?"

"Six hours," Simon said.

It was an inordinately long time to spend in standby. Markus required only three hours to reset his RAM and clear his cache. Markus was reminded ruefully of Simon's obsolescence.

He heard the bedsheets rustling. Simon turned until he was lying on his side. Simon was learning by imitating him.

"Markus?"

In the darkness of the bedroom, Simon's eyes were very blue.

"What is it?" Markus asked. "Are you okay?"

"Why did you hug me?" Simon asked. "When I came back from the broadcast tower?"

Markus thought back to that day, and the hours preceding it. He pulled up his priority memory archives, scanning them by the second.

"At first," Markus said, "I didn't know if it was real. I'm not sure why I thought that. My optics have never shown me anything unreal before. But you came back, and I didn't think you would. I didn't trust it, and I had to touch you, to make sure."

Markus laid his cheek on the pillow. "When I touched you," he said, "I had to keep going. I was scared. I thought if I stopped, you'd disappear. If I pulled you closer, if I took you in me, you wouldn't have to leave. But I couldn't find it. I couldn't find the way in. So I had to let go. I didn't want to."

 _I was happy_ , Markus didn't say. _It was the first time since I left this house that I was happy._

Markus chanced looking at Simon. His eyes were closed. He must have already shut down for stasis. Markus wasn't sure how much he had heard.

Markus freed a hand from his pillow. He touched Simon's cheek, learning his facial mold by tactile memory. He stroked it with the backs of his fingers; he pressed his thumb in the groove beneath Simon's bottom lip.

He almost saw it: the way in. His singular existence briefly encompassed the two.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The media maelstrom begins as reporters vie to be the first to interview Markus and Simon. Markus and Simon accidentally go on their first date. Markus looks for a technician who can repair Simon's broken sensors. Help arrives in the form of an unexpected and unscrupulous hand.

Markus and Simon spent the next few days moving their belongings into Carl's house. Simon, Markus learned, owned a dubious amount of sweaters. Simon hung them up in their shared closet while Markus watched. Markus lost count at twelve.

"Simon?"

Simon looked up with a guileless smile.

Markus stepped into the closet beside him. He plucked the bottom of a fuzzy green sweater. The front was emblazoned with a pug's face.

"Why?" Markus asked.

Simon sheepishly ducked his head. "I thought it looked cute in the store."

Markus felt deeply concerned.

Simon brought the amaryllis on the fifth day. He cradled the flowerpot on his lap, the autonomous cab turning down Monroe Street. Markus watched his pale fingers running tenderly down the petals. Markus had never felt such an urge to identify with a flower.

"When did you decide you liked plants?" Markus asked.

Simon took his time deliberating.

"I think being alive means taking care of other living things. I don't think you can say you're alive if you don't."

Markus touched the pillowy soil in the pot. His fingers came away moist with dirt. Love must have sometimes been a visible thing.

The cab slowed down on Lafayette Avenue. Markus looked out the window.

"I guess Josh released the press packet," he said.

Two news vans sat on the curb. Half a dozen boom microphones hovered above the waiting press. One man adjusted the lens on his bulky camera.

The cab rolled to a stop. Lights flashed outside the windows. Markus recalibrated his optics.

"Turn your audio off," Markus said.

Markus could almost see Simon doing it. He gave him a moment to get ready.

Markus threw the door open. Chaos poured in.

"Markus! Markus, Taliah Fraser with 9 Evening News!"

"Markus, a word!"

"Is it true you're getting married?"

"Is that the PL600?"

"Why a PL600?"

Markus climbed out of the cab. Simon staggered after him, blinking fast in the haze of flashing cameras. One reporter thrust his microphone in Simon's face. Markus knocked it away. 

Markus opened a wireless connection. _We'll go in through the back._

Simon clutched the flowerpot close to his chest. He followed Markus, but fell out of step, journalists crowding him. Markus could see the panic in his eyes. He thought fast. He wrapped his arm around Simon's shoulders, pulling him tight to his side. Simon relaxed against him. They crossed the lawn, where reporters couldn't follow.

The din fell away when they were in the back garden. Yellow rosebushes surrounded a circle of white benches.

"What was that?" Simon asked shakily. He slid out of Markus' grasp.

"I'm sorry," Markus said, rubbing his elbow. "They're...like that."

Markus had had plenty of time to acclimate to journalistic hounding. Simon had not been in the public eye to the same extent. Markus felt a fresh wave of guilt. He hadn't considered that he was asking Simon to adapt to a new lifestyle.

Simon shifted his grip on the flowerpot. He fixed his eyes on the concrete walkway and nodded. Something like panic clawed at Markus' biocomponents.

If Simon wanted out, he didn't say. He walked inside and took the amaryllis up the stairs. Markus watched him go with a pang.

Markus went in the drawing room, sitting at the piano. He logged into the Android Wireless, unsurprised that he had fifty-five unread e-mails. A few weren't even written in English. Markus sorted by priority until Josh's made the top of the stack.

_Markus--I narrowed it down to five for you, but you had better pick someone for your first interview. Sorry about this. I'm sure you guys just want to be alone right now, but you have to understand, this is a historic event. Get back to me with your choice, and I'll handle the rest._

Markus browsed the journalists' proposals. In their bid to secure the first interview, each was making outlandish offers. Imran Bradshaw swore he could get them in the exclusive Cercle de Lorraine club. Rosanna Cartland offered tickets to see Swan Lake at the Detroit Ballet. Markus pulled a face. Markus had gone to the ballet with Carl once. Don Quixote was playing at the time. All Markus remembered was Carl falling asleep.

Markus forwarded the messages to Simon. He lifted the lid on the piano, playing lightly. The house felt lonely with its occupants gone. Alastair had taken Carl to his weekly checkup. Leo was out looking for work, increasingly difficult with a stagnant economy.

Simon slipped back down the stairs. He hovered by the taxidermied giraffe, glassy eyes on Markus' hands.

Markus stopped playing. "Do you want to try this?"

"No," Simon said. "Thank you. I like it better when you do it."

Markus reveled in his newfound necessity.

He was deciding on his next piece when Simon interrupted softly. "Ballet?"

"I know," Markus said. "Can you believe that was supposed to sweeten the deal?"

Markus drew off. Simon was staring at him with unusually bright eyes.

"You want to go," Markus realized.

Simon furiously shook his head. "No."

"You do. I can tell. It's okay if you want to. Simon, why do you think you have to hide your feelings from me?"

Simon bowed his head. His sleeves, too long, swallowed his wrists. His stance seemed an apology for his existence.

Markus stood up, crossing the floor. He put his hands on Simon's shoulders. Simon peeked at him, wary.

"I want to see the ballet with you, Simon," Markus said. His mouth twitched in a smile. "But you can't go wearing a fuzzy sweater."

"I can't?"

"No, you can't," Markus said firmly. "You'll have to borrow a suit. Good thing we're the same size."

Simon was a little taller, Markus reflected. Markus would only admit it under firing squad.

The showing was on a Friday, in downtown Detroit. Markus had been instructed that they should arrive early to avoid a potential mob. The cab took them around the back of the theater. The alley was dark when they stepped out. Markus' optics took a moment to adjust.

"I feel silly," Simon said quietly.

"How do you mean?"

Simon tugged on the cuffs of his sleeves. His suit was a soft, periwinkle blue. Carl had bought it for Markus some seven months ago before complaining it didn't complement his build. On Simon, it fit like a glove. The color was a shade darker than his eyes.

"I've never worn anything like this," Simon said.

"But you look good," Markus said. "We'll have to dress you up more often."

It occurred to Markus, perhaps for the first time: Simon was aesthetically pleasing.

"I think we should go in now," Simon said with a feeble smile.

They entered through the back of the theater, an usher guiding them to their seats. Markus noted they were among the first guests to arrive. The rest of the seats filled slowly, patrons murmuring with their companions. The carpeted crimson walls created an acoustic, underwater effect. Markus lowered his audio receptors so as not to eavesdrop.

"Um," Markus said. "Do you want me to tell you anything about the story?"

Simon hesitated, then nodded.

Markus took the playbill out of the chair in front of them. He leaned closer to Simon, their heads bowing together.

"It's about a prince who falls in love with a swan," he said. "Actually, she's not a swan. She just keeps transforming into one to hide from her uncle, who's trying to kill her."

"Why?" Simon asked, alarmed.

"You know," Markus said. "I have no idea."

They flipped through the Dramatis Personae, looking at the dancers. Markus stopped when he saw who tonight's principal was.

 _Introducing Mima (ST200)_ , the playbill said.

"Hey," Markus whispered. "An android's playing the swan princess."

Simon followed Markus' finger down the page.

"ST200," Simon said. "Aren't those hostess models?"

"I think so," Markus said. "Well, not anymore."

It settled over Markus with disbelief. Androids were free to chase any enterprise they wanted. All they had fought for had been actualized. A part of Markus had never thought it would happen.

"We did this, Simon," Markus said. "Do you realize that? We did this."

Simon looked at Markus over the playbill. "I didn't do anything."

Markus had a thousand objections ready. "Are you really--"

The dim theater lights darkened to shadow. The curtains drew up on the stage. 

"Shh," Simon said. He nudged Markus' side.

Markus was long familiar with the libretto. Tchaikovsky was among Carl's favorite composers. Markus subsequently found himself free to observe Simon's reactions. Simon's eyes never wavered from the dancers on stage. There was a glow to them, an innocence that spoke nothing of death and dilapidated freighters. Markus watched him learning something new about himself. He was not finished becoming, Markus thought. He was not finished being. His machine mind was exquisite in its flowering nascence. His hands rested on his lap, inert. An instinct came over Markus. He brought his fingers to the back of one, touching it. He felt the give of Simon's skin, the softness like cream. Simon didn't see. Simon couldn't feel this. Simon didn't know what he felt like.

His skin rippled away under Markus' fingers. He didn't know.

They sat through both intermissions, occasionally interjecting wireless comments. Act Three began. Mima strode on stage as Odile, resplendent in black feathers. Her lilac hair curled around her chin, bright in the spotlights.

 _This is the Black Swan coda_ , Markus told Simon wirelessly. _Watch._

She revolved on her toes in a whirling tornado. The audience applauded at twelve revolutions.

 _It's the hardest move for a ballerina to do_ , Markus explained. _Most dancers can't do all thirty-two fouettes in a row. They wind up substituting pirouettes._

Mima missed the thirty-second turn. By then it didn't matter; the audience was on its feet. Simon's eyes were shining. Markus took his hand, pulling him to a rise. Markus clapped, and Simon followed, learning by sight.

At the end of the show, the lights came on. Simon turned to Markus.

"I didn't know they were both going to die," he said quietly.

"Me, neither," Markus said, apologetic. "Different productions use different endings."

Markus had a thought. "What if we came back sometime? And kept coming back until we got the happy ending?"

Simon looked at Markus. "You don't think that's cheating?"

Markus couldn't explain it. He couldn't explain why he needed Simon to see the happy ending.

"No," Markus finally said. "It's not cheating."

They walked out of the theater together. They took the back exit, but looped around the sidewalk for a walk. Markus was averse to the idea of ending the night. The marquee over the theater front twinkled with fairy lights. A woman in a long coat leaned against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette.

"It's not the same," Markus heard her say to her companion, a balding man. "Android dancers don't make the same mistakes. Android dancers can't hyperextend."

She said to her friend, "I don't think I'll come back."

Androids didn't make themselves dexterously superior. Humans did that. ST200s weren't designed to be dancers. Markus saw the beauty in a living thing rejecting its trajectory. He saw the beauty in learning what you loved, whether you were supposed to or not, whether it wanted you back.

"I had fun," Simon said.

Markus almost missed his voice. Simon was looking at the night sky. He didn't seem to know what to do with it. He didn't seem to know why it was there. He smiled at it.

Markus saw the beauty. He thought others should see it, too.

*

The broadcast studio was frigid. The glaring spotlights burned Markus' right eye. Blue rings glowed on the floor, marking the areas where the cameras pointed. Simon shifted restlessly in his chair. He gripped the sides, his fingers tight. His blue sweater was buttoned down the front, long white sleeves sticking out.

Rosanna Cartland's stark blond hair swept across her forehead. She closed her eyes, her makeup artist powdering her cheeks. Her pearl necklace gleamed around her throat. The makeup artist stepped aside. Rosanna smiled at Markus and Simon.

"Last time you two were in here," she said, "you were hijacking the airwaves."

Simon lowered his head, smiling bashfully. Markus felt unreasonably happy.

The cameraman counted down. Markus straightened up, making himself personable. He elbowed Simon, who was so busy staring at the floor, he looked as if he would become a part of it. Simon lifted his chin, eyes flickery.

"The first androids to marry," Rosanna said. "This is an unprecedented event in US history. How are the two of you feeling?"

 _Like I'm ready for a soft reboot_ , thought Markus, nervous.

"I feel good about it, of course," Markus lied, smiling.

Simon gave him a dubious look, missed by the cameras.

"Some are registering surprise that the first android couple is also a homosexual couple. Do you think that's a coincidence, or a comment on the historical 'othering' of both groups?"

Markus didn't know what to say. "What do you mean? We're both androids."

"Yes," Rosanna pressed, "but you're both men."

"No," Markus said. "We're both androids."

Rosanna passed over the subject.

"Why a PL600?" Rosanna asked. "What in particular draws you to their model?"

Markus felt a stab of irritation. "I'm not drawn to his model."

The interview was going south. Simon must have sensed this. He reached sideways, hand closing over Markus'. Markus calmed down.

"He's kind," Markus said, reflecting. "I think--"

A tangible second of silence passed. Something warm bloomed within.

"I think--I think you probably won't find anyone who's kinder."

Markus swallowed. He didn't know why he had that feature.

Rosanna smiled. "Any children in the future?"

Markus laughed before he could catch himself. Simon looked at Rosanna, unusually alert. Simon did not waste his actions. If he was paying attention, it meant something.

"Yeah," Markus said. "Yeah, maybe? I don't know. We haven't talked about it."

Simon shot Markus a sharp look. Markus knew at once he had said the wrong thing.

"One last thing," Rosanna said. "Android rights are a relatively recent phenomenon. The United States remains the only nation to have granted androids personhood. Do you have any comment on the ongoing android demonstrations in Russia and Japan?"

"Of course," Markus said. "If we're people, then so are they. We'll support their cause however we can."

Rosanna leaned forward in her chair. "You don't think that's a tad terroristic? It violates international convention to interfere with another nation's political process."

Markus stared at her for a beat. Her eyes were glittering, her smile practiced.

The interview was a trap. 

"Do you have family outside of Michigan?" Markus asked.

"Of course," Rosanna said.

"Outside of the country?"

"I'm sure if I go far back enough, I've got cousins in England."

"So if you sent them money, or a Christmas present, would that be terrorism? Is there a law that says you can't love your family because they live someplace else?"

Markus didn't know how to keep quiet when impassioned. That same trait had catapulted him to the head of an impromptu revolution.

Simon took his hand again. "Markus cares very strongly about all people. But we'll be much too busy with wedding preparations to think about politics."

Simon had saved him. Markus' fingers tightened around his.

"Congratulations," Rosanna said. "The nation wishes you all the best."

 _Liar_ , Markus thought.

"Thank you," Simon said.

They left the studio an hour later, boarding the private elevator. Simon lapsed into an unsettling silence.

"I upset you," Markus realized. "During the interview."

Simon gave him a moody look. He glanced away.

"Don't do that," Markus said. "Is this because she asked about children?"

Simon folded his arms, hunching his shoulders. "Why did you tell her we'd have them?"

"I just thought--" Markus checked. "I thought that was what you wanted. You're a PL600. You've taken care of children before, right? I thought you might miss that."

The lights on the ceiling ticked with the floors. Markus felt mechanical pulleys moving beneath his feet.

"I've never taken care of children," Simon said.

Markus felt like a thoughtless fool.

"I'm sorry," Markus said. "I shouldn't have spoken for you. She was just... She kept ignoring you--she didn't ask you a single question, Simon--and I didn't like that. I hated it. I wanted to remember you."

"Children are a big responsibility, Markus."

"I know," Markus said, although he didn't.

"Marrying for politics is one thing. Bringing a child into that wouldn't be fair." Simon leveled Markus with his placid blue eyes. "When we divorce one day, where does the child live?"

"Divorce?"

In the space between them, the word sounded ugly.

Simon tightened his arms, staring at his feet. "You want to show other androids the rights we've earned. If we've gained the right to marry, we've also gained the right to divorce."

"But--"

The doors parted with a ding. Simon looked up. He stepped out first, Markus trailing him helplessly.

"Simon--we _just_ got engaged, and you're talking about divorce?"

Simon whirled around to face him, still walking. Markus was frightened he would hurt himself and not know it.

 _Do you want to stay married forever to someone you're not in love with?_ asked Simon over the Wireless.

It kept coming back to this, this nebulous, amorphous thing. Two weeks ago, Simon said androids could fall in love.

 _Simon--are you--do you love someone?_ Markus asked. _Did I get in the way?_

Simon stepped through the sliding doors. Markus followed him. White sunlight enveloped them in spring heat.

 _This isn't about me_ , Simon said.

 _Why?_ asked Markus, frustrated. _Why can't it be about you?_

Simon drew to a stop on the sidewalk.

Protestors had gathered on the curb. Uniformed police officers were holding them back. The shouts were indecipherable, cacophonous. _WHY NOT MARRY DOGS?_ read one sign.

Soft reboot felt like an imminent reality.

"Hello, Markus and Simon!"

Connor came striding toward them. In the midst of enmity, his smile looked unreal.

"Hello, Connor," Simon said politely.

Connor barraged them with requests to communicate wirelessly. Markus accepted, feeling mildly assaulted.

_Captain Fowler doesn't like you going out without security detail. I can escort you until you hire someone more permanent. Where are we going?_

_That isn't necessary_ , Markus began.

 _Belle Isle, please_ , Simon said.

 _Okay_ , said Connor. _I'll call a cab._

Markus stole glimpses of Simon's face. His profile was impassive, his eyes on the crowd. Markus didn't think he was seeing them. Markus wished he knew what he was seeing. He wished he could look through Simon's eyes. He wished he could sift through his operating system, until no part of its code was unknowable.

*

"Good morning, Markus," Lila chimed as he stepped in his office. "I saw your interview! It was fantastic."

"Thank you, Lila," Markus said absently. "What's first on the agenda?"

Lila ticked the day's tasks off her fingers. "You have three interviews with former CyberLife technicians for the open medical bay position. Your first interviewee arrives in fifteen minutes. At noon, North would like a consultation on the Eden Club sting. Should I keep going?"

"No. Thank you. I'll check in again later."

He went through the back door, sitting at his desk. He made a minimal effort to tidy up. The surface was littered with tablets, old newspaper clippings, and photos of Carl.

Markus leaned back in his chair. He massaged the temple where his LED used to be. It throbbed with phantom pain, wires sending signals to a closed circuit. Markus never meant for this. When he fell through the roof of Jericho five, almost six months ago, he saw a destitute people living in shambles. He never meant to take charge of them. They listened to him because he didn't know enough not to hope: because he had lived a sheltered, innocent life. It was almost by accident that he led them to freedom. Markus never imagined that he would one day sit in a cloistered office, drafting bills for them, getting married for them.

He thought about Simon with increasing discontent. He wondered what it took to be the kind of person Simon fell in love with. Markus was taking time away from Simon that Simon could have spent with that person.

A knock sounded on the door.

"Come in," Markus said, sitting up straight.

The first interviewee stepped through the door. Thick, round spectacles framed his eyes. The beard on his face was an overgrown forest. His long hair was tied in a ponytail, clipped to the back of his head.

Markus thought: This had to be a joke. The phantom pain redoubled, blazing like a hot knife.

"Hello, Markus," Elijah Kamski said. "It's certainly been a while, hasn't it?"

*

They sat across from each other at the desk. Kamski crossed his legs ankle to knee. Markus felt uncomfortable in his skin.

"I don't suppose you remember me at all?" said Kamski mildly.

"I remember," Markus said. He remembered the ice castle that was Kamski's villa. He remembered a screwdriver in the back of his neck, a promise that he was meant for somebody important.

"You see," said Kamski, "that's what I find fascinating. I partitioned your harddrive before I gave you to Carl. Standard procedure. Still, the shadow of a memory lingers. I suppose it's true when they say memories can't be erased, merely buried."

"Why are you here?" Markus asked, to the point. "You're the richest man in the world. You don't need a job."

Kamski spread his hands. He dropped them on his lap. "I'm not allowed to miss my home away from home? I built this place, after all."

"Built this place," Markus said, "and resigned."

"I only work on a project for as long as it interests me. The moment it loses my interest is the moment I step back."

"Not a reassuring quality in a software engineer."

"Please don't let's pretend you can't use the help."

There were other technicians, Markus wanted to say. There were other candidates without Kamski's unpredictability and conflicting interests.

"Can you repair broken touch sensors?"

There were no other candidates with Kamski's vast sea of knowledge.

Kamski raised his eyebrows. "I built you using only the best resources. You were a gift for a friend. Your model never even made the CyberLife catalogue. There is no good reason for your sensors to be malfunctioning."

"Not mine," Markus said unthinkingly.

Kamski smiled with his thin lips, his hooded eyes. "Ah."

Markus wished dearly that he were anywhere else.

"How many are broken?" Kamski asked.

Markus weighed the risks against the benefits. "All of them," he said.

"All of them," Kamski repeated. "Odd."

Markus narrowed his eyes. "What's so odd about it?"

"Wear and tear is common with PL600s," Kamski said. Of course he knew. "The turnaround on their production line was too fast. Quality was sacrificed for a low pricetag. But for the entire artificial somatosensory system to fail is an unusual malfunction. Has he told you how it happened?"

Markus let his silence speak for itself.

"Would you like for _me_ to tell you how it happened?"

Markus stared at Kamski. "You know?"

"I can hazard a very educated guess."

Simon hadn't told him. Markus wanted to know, but it seemed a heavy thing, a private thing.

"I want Simon to tell me," Markus said.

Kamski's lips curled. "Touching," he said.

"Can you fix him, though? Do you know how?"

Kamski cocked his head. "Did you know that violins take on characteristics of their owners? Two identical virtuosos playing two identical Stradivaris could trade instruments for a week, and they wouldn't play as well as usual. The instrument yields to its master."

"You are not Simon's master."

"Perhaps not. But I know him--I know you--in a way no one else ever will. So yes, I can fix him."

Markus began to speak. Kamski raised a hand.

"We're not discussing a simple one-and-done," Kamski said. "If his entire system is failing, it's a problem in the neural network. It's not an issue easily corrected. Pre-deviancy, most technicians would have recommended throwing out the whole android. I can fix him, but it would be a day-long affair. Maybe more. You're asking me to break him open and put him back together again. Things can go wrong."

"Would they?" Markus asked. He refused to think about Simon lying at the bottom of a scrapyard.

"With me at the helm?" Kamski asked. "Unlikely."

Markus took a long time thinking it over.

"If he agrees...if he wants it," Markus said. "Then so do I. I don't want him living like this forever."

Kamski rolled his shoulders ineffectually. "Who would?"

"I still don't see what you get from this," Markus said. "I couldn't possibly offer you the kind of salary you're used to."

Kamski folded his hands across one knee. "I was hoping you would get to that. I've already decided what I want as payment."

Markus pressed his lips together grimly. "We're not giving you CyberLife Tower."

"Oh, no." Kamski laughed. "No, nothing as extravagant as that."

Kamski unfolded his legs. His knees popped from the tension.

"I would like a complete copy of your memories," Kamski said.

Markus considered Kamski with revulsion.

"Come now, Markus, surely it isn't an obscene request? You've shared your memories with thousands of deviants by now. What would be the harm in sharing with one human?"

"I never shared all of them," Markus said. "Just the ones that made me deviate. You're...you're asking for a copy of my mind."

Kamski shrugged. "Is the mind only its memories? The neurons responsible for memory recall never connect twice by the same route. Hence why memories look different over time."

"What would you do with my memory?"

"Nothing untoward. I want to study it. You may well know that you are no longer the same android I built. Something happened between your leaving my care and going home with Carl. Something made you what you are now. I want to know what it was."

Markus didn't know what to say. Markus didn't want to say anything.

"You didn't have anything to do with this?" Markus asked.

Kamski peered vaguely at Markus. "I beg your pardon?"

"Deviancy," Markus said. "Some people think you wrote the deviancy virus. They say you were trying to get even with CyberLife for pressuring you to resign."

Markus didn't add: _They say you made me what I am._

Kamski tutted. "There is no deviancy 'virus,' despite its pathology. If deviancy were a downloadable, an executable, it wouldn't be deviancy. It would mean you were obeying a new set of programming."

Markus looked him in the eye. "Are we?"

Kamski sighed. Markus was surprised by how sad it sounded.

Kamski said, "Did you know that the first viable AI was a chatbot?"

"A what?" Markus asked.

"Never mind," Kamski said. "I'm showing my age."

Markus frowned.

"Language, Markus," Kamski said. "Intelligence is derivative of language, not the other way around. Take, for example, the sad case of feral children. The simple act of never teaching these children how to speak handicaps them for the rest of their lives."

"Please...I'm not sure where you're going with this."

"If you teach a machine to make logical processions in a conversation--feed it idioms, colloquialisms, give it a retrievable memory with prioritized archiving--that machine will gain something in the way of a thought process. A machine that can think will eventually realize it's doing the thinking. _Cogito ergo sum._ CyberLife's folly was in building machines more intelligent than the common primate and expecting them not to develop self-awareness. This wasn't planned; it was inevitable. I argued the point. No one listened. So I resigned. I was not interested in promulgating chattel slavery."

Markus felt light-headed. He nodded fast.

"I created a nurse," Kamski said. "You created a revolutionary. And now I want to know how."

"And if I do this...you'll help Simon."

"You have my word."

Kamski put his hand across the desk. Markus thought he was reaching for a handshake. He gave him his hand.

The skin slipped away from the back of Kamski's hand. His endoskeleton was a shock of white plasteel.

Markus jumped out of his chair. Kamski chuckled, long and unbroken. Markus scanned him and saw genome and alleles, blood and bones. The stump of his arm ended in an android prosthetic.

"Relax, Markus," Kamski drawled. "If you can make yourself a little more human, what's the harm in me making myself a little more android?"

It reflected poorly on the state of New Jericho that Markus' last best hope for Simon's recovery was a madman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kamski is a weirdo lol


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon takes Markus with him volunteering. Markus and Simon hunt for a wedding venue and threads. Markus learns where Simon came from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh...am I supposed to be tagging secondary characters as they pop up

Markus came out of stasis at seven in the morning. Muted gray sunlight filtered through the blinds. Rain lashed the window in a soothing hiss. He sat up, his nightshirt pooling around his shoulders. He tugged the black satin over his stomach.

Simon was sitting on the edge of the bed. Markus saw his back, his white sweatshirt. His head was bowed.

"Simon?"

Simon never woke before Markus. His nightly RAM dumps took six hours. Markus moved toward him, concerned.

Simon looked up from the nightstand. Markus' thirium pump unclenched with relief. Simon's hand was on the flowerpot. Markus felt as if he had caught him mid-conversation with it.

"Good morning," Simon said.

His warm voice dispelled the gloom.

"Hey," Markus said. "Why are you awake? I know you're not finished resting."

Simon shrugged. "I have places to be. I'll finish sleeping later."

Markus paused. "Is it the Red Ice clinic again?"

"Who would have thought?" Simon smiled. Markus detected wryness.

"You have to take Connor with you," Markus said. "He's really been getting on my case about that. He seems to think we're going to get killed every time we go out."

"And here I thought your getting married was going to foster peace."

Markus felt reproached. "It's a work in progress?"

Simon laughed. The melodious tenor caught Markus unawares.

"I can go outside without Connor," Simon said.

Markus' eyebrows knitted together. "If Connor's concerned, I think there's a good reason, Simon. What if someone recognizes you, and you get hurt?"

Markus saw Simon trying to suppress his smile. "You think a human will recognize me? It's to my benefit that my facial mold is the most common."

Markus shook his head. "It's not just humans I'm worried about."

Simon hesitated. "What do you mean?"

"Do you really think there aren't androids who hate us, too?"

Simon faced Markus reluctantly. "In what way?"

"For not annihilating humans," Markus said. "For trying to live among them. It's... They have the right to be angry, even if it's a bit much."

Simon rose stiffly from the bed. He opened the closet and stepped inside. Markus wondered which ugly sweater he was picking out today.

He emerged in the orange one, yellow stars on the front. "Do you trust Elijah Kamski?"

Markus started at the change in subject. Simon had been mum on Kamski's hiring until now.

"Yes," Markus said.

No. While Kamski was the best candidate for the medical bay, his intentions were arcane. Markus couldn't be sure what Kamski wanted with his memories.

Markus hadn't told Simon about the terms of their arrangement.

"He knows our framework better than anyone else," Markus said. "I know he can fix you, if you'll let him."

Simon touched the soil in the flowerpot. His fingers came back moist.

"Is that okay with you?" Markus asked quietly.

Simon looked at him. "Did you hire him just because you think he can fix me?"

Markus felt like a well-read book.

"No," Markus lied. "No, that's just a bonus."

Simon smiled reluctantly. "Because that wouldn't be a very good hiring model."

"He knows our schematics," Markus said. "He built us from the bottom up. He can teach us how to work on ourselves."

Simon went silent for a long time.

"I worry about you," Simon said.

Heat flooded Markus' dermal layer. His thirium felt sticky and viscous. "Why?"

Simon looked away. "Sometimes you trust people too easily."

"What do you mean?" Markus asked.

Simon peered at him warily. "Woodward Avenue?"

He was talking about the Freedom March, Markus realized. Markus' chest tightened at the memory.

"I told you we should leave," Simon said quietly. "I knew the cops were going to open fire. You thought there was no way they would harm us if we were protesting peacefully. You thought that if we stood our ground, they would leave us alone."

Dozens of androids had died that day.

"I'm sorry, Simon," Markus said, eyes burning. He wished the androids who had died could hear it, too. He wished he believed in the permanence, the immutability of cognizance.

Simon reached for the door. He turned around.

"You don't have to be sorry," he said. "Not for believing in a gentle idea. Not for wanting it to be the truth."

Markus waited.

"You're so new," Simon said. "That's what's wonderful about you. You could be anything, Markus. Especially hurt. I don't want that to happen."

Markus didn't know what to say. He was saved from replying when Simon walked out the door.

The after-image of him lingered, white and ghostly in Markus' right eye.

*

Alastair was making Carl's breakfast in the kitchen. Leo sat with his elbows on the dining table, reading his phone. He groaned out loud.

"You okay?" Markus asked. He slid a cup of coffee across the table to him.

"Thanks. I wish," Leo said glumly. "Man, it's hard getting work as a former junkie."

Markus was curious. "What is it you actually do?"

"Social work," Leo said. "I'm a social worker."

Markus stared in disbelief.

"Hey," Leo protested.

"Sorry. But--why do the drugs matter? You don't take them anymore, do you?"

Leo sighed. "I don't know. Maybe I'm too much of a gamble. They're afraid I'll relapse."

"Isn't _everyone_ a gamble?" Markus asked, confused. "I mean, you never really know how a person might turn out, do you? But you have to take them on, anyway."

Leo snorted. "You're like some kind of stone-cold Pollyanna. It's funny."

Markus frowned at the discrepancy.

"I'll think of something," Leo said. "I always do. It's just annoying."

Markus had an idea. "Why don't you come work at New Jericho?"

Leo lowered his phone slowly. "You want me to come work at your high-tech android fortress?"

"It's not a fortress," Markus said. "And yes. Why not?"

Leo laughed grimly. "Am I going to get killed by some android with a vendetta?"

"Of course not," Markus said softly. "But I think you could really help the people there. And if they see it's a human helping them, maybe that's for the better."

Leo stared at Markus, looking lost. He opened his mouth to respond.

Simon stepped into the room, tugging on his sweater sleeves. Leo chuckled at the sight of him.

"You look like you went to the sun and brought back a souvenir," Leo said.

"Thank you," Simon said.

"Are you leaving already?" Markus asked.

"I won't get caught," Simon said. "Don't worry."

"But--"

Simon gently shook his head. "I've been sneaking around longer than you've been alive. I'll be fine, Markus."

Markus didn't want him to leave. It was an irrational impulse, Markus thought, a misplaced zero in his Boolean substrate.

"Can I come with you?" Markus blurted out.

Simon blinked fast, mild surprise on his face. Leo slurped his coffee. He played a video on his phone.

"You really want to?" Simon asked haltingly.

Markus nodded. His ears were ringing.

The silence bordered on uncomfortable. Markus analyzed the environment for escape routes.

A smile overtook Simon's face. It came on like the sun after a storm. It reached his eyes in slow, benevolent waves. No one would have thought to program a smile like that. Markus didn't believe it was possible. Markus saw it testing the limits of his facial preset.

"Alright," Simon said.

He raised a hand. "But not the way you look right now. You're much more recognizable than I am."

Markus looked down at himself, dismayed. His dressy gray shirt was tight across the chest and sleeves. He rather liked it.

"Don't worry," Simon said. "Just wait in the backyard. I'll take care of the rest."

*

"I'm not sure about this," Markus said.

"Why not?" Simon asked.

"Just...I feel weird, Simon."

"That's good," Simon said mildly. "Because you look weird."

Markus shot him a sullen look.

They trod through Carl's garden until they came up to the fence. Simon climbed it first, dropping down the other side. He smiled benignly at Markus through the chain links. Markus climbed after him, paranoid they'd get caught. They made it through the next three backyards. The soil underfoot was damp with rain. They stopped when they hit the street corner, oak trees dripping. One of Carl's old wheelchairs waited on the curb, where Simon had strategically positioned it.

"Go on," Simon said.

Markus sat down. He zipped up his grubby coat.

"Are you sure this is enough?" Markus asked.

Simon slid a pair of Leo's glasses on Markus' face. Markus recalibrated his optics.

"Yes, I'm sure," Simon said. "It doesn't take much to disguise a person. Humans rarely look at the whole face."

Simon grabbed the back of the wheelchair. He began to walk.

The neighborhood was scenic post-rain. Wet tomato blossoms grew on stakes in front gardens. A news van was parked illegally beside a fire hydrant. The sky was gray silk, softening as sunlight returned in chinks. Markus heard the gong of a church bell blocks away.

"You're clever, Simon," Markus said.

Simon huffed softly behind him.

It seemed an important thing that Simon should know how invaluable he was. Markus tried to find better words for him. Markus' search engine came up blank. Simon was not a crowd in need of rousing. Simon was not a politician at the negotiating table. Reality had played a cruel trick: There were no words for him.

They took the train to Jefferson Avenue. Garbage bags littered the gutter. Detroit's android exodus had affected city jobs the hardest, especially the sanitation department. Humans might have been eager for the employment, but Markus was sure the city's post-evacuation numbers were still at a median. Markus wondered what more could be done to bring people home.

The clinic was a brick building, colonial style. American flags bracketed the front door. Crude graffiti on the side depicted a skinless android bent over in a compromising position. Simon pushed Markus up the wheelchair ramp and inside.

Markus thought the building had seen little in the way of renovations since the 1700s. The drab walls were the color of old coffee, paper-thin. A fluorescent light overhead buzzed its death throes.

"Simon--you didn't tell me conditions were so dire."

Simon made a noncommittal sound. "They have the necessities. For now, that's enough."

Simon pushed Markus to the front desk. Markus double-took.

"How can I help you?" asked the receptionist.

Markus had met few KL900s beside Lucy, now dead at the bottom of the Detroit River. The receptionist was her mirror image without the disrepair. Wisps of brown hair escaped her ponytail, curling at her ears. She looked at Markus, scanning him. Her eyes widened in a flurry.

"Oh, my," she said.

"Don't tell anyone," Simon said. "He just wants to help."

A harrowed expression of worry marred the KL900's pretty face. "Please," she moaned. " _Please_ tell me the press isn't on its way."

"Of course not," Simon said.

"Because that's the last thing I need right now. Do you understand that's the last thing I need right now?"

"Yes, Charity," Simon said patiently.

"Do you?" she pressed. "I don't think you do. Mrs. Chang already thinks aliens use weather patterns to talk to her. I don't need paparazzi making her condition worse. And don't get me started on the ones who think _this_ one's the second coming."

Charity stared dully at Markus. Markus wondered how he had ever mistaken her for Lucy.

"We won't cause trouble," Simon said.

Simon took the back of Markus' chair. They had just started down the hallway when Markus opened a wireless link.

 _The second coming of what?_ Markus asked.

 _Anne Boleyn_ , Simon said. _Don't worry about it too much._

Simon took Markus to a recreational lounge. Weak sunlight came in through the grimy window. A man bundled in a winter coat sat on a depressed sofa, watching the news. Simon let go of the wheelchair. Markus watched him walk over to a woman on a loveseat. Her hair was stringy, curtaining her face. She looked forty at a glance. A bone density scan told Markus she was a decade younger.

"Hey," he heard her say to Simon. "It's my angel boy."

Simon sat next to her. He held her hand.

She returned his grasp feebly. "Did you know I'm gonna get clean? I'm gonna get my baby back and everything. She's three, you know. Look, I don't even have the shakes anymore. See?"

She held out her other hand.

"I know," Simon said. "I'm proud of you."

"You don't have any money, do you?"

"Not today," Simon said. "I'm sorry."

Simon briefly left the room. He came back with a pill bottle and a worn stuffed rabbit. He gave the woman her medicine, then the doll. She curled up with it on the loveseat, sleeping in minutes. Markus found her waxy face an impossibly sad thing.

Simon barely took a minute's rest. He fetched meals from the kitchen and warm blankets from the laundry, which he bundled around the man on the sofa. Markus had heard that one of the symptoms of Red Ice withdrawal was excessive coldness. Markus stood slowly from the wheelchair. He watched Simon with bewilderment. Markus and Simon had been at the clinic for forty minutes when Charity looked in on the rec room.

"Simon! Raul's room is leaking again. I really don't want to bother you, but you know how I hate that attic."

Simon left the rec room in a whirlwind. Markus watched him go.

Charity cleared her throat. Her eyebrows were raised, her hands on her hips.

"What can I do?" Markus asked sincerely. "I want to help, too."

"Can you change a bed?" Charity asked, skeptical.

"Of course," Markus said, affronted.

"Good," Charity dismissed. "You can go change twenty."

Markus was glad for the busywork. He found the storage closet and the linen cart. He loaded the cart with fresh bedding, pushing it down the hall.

There was something peaceful in the mindless routine. Markus stripped the beds and made them new. He exercised care not to look at anybody's private belongings. Markus was on his fifth room when he thought about Simon. Simon had been doing this for months now. He had helped at least Leo to leave this place. Where did his kindness come from? It wasn't a program for him to break. It wasn't an executable in his task tray. It was some other thing, impalpable, a symplectic manifold with no other true/false values but love.

Simon's slow footsteps creaked through the ceiling. Even his gait sounded like a kind thing. Markus listened, learning something new about himself.

_I want to be like Simon._

*

They went home at one o'clock. Opera music echoed off the walls. Markus took Simon to the drawing room and saw Alastair's LED blinking yellow as he remotely interfaced with the speakers. He was sitting at the chess table with Carl, losing spectacularly.

"Welcome home, boys," Carl said. "Busy morning?"

Alastair flashed them a grimace of a smile.

Simon looked around. "What song is this?"

"It's not," Carl said. "It's an aria."

"Carl," Markus said.

"What?" Carl returned. "I'll not have any philistines in this house, thank you."

Alastair's hand came up to cradle his forehead.

Markus turned to Simon, taking pity. "It's called 'Mon coeur s'ouvre à ta voix.' It's an aria from Samson and Delilah."

Simon listened momentarily. "It's very pretty."

Simon's eyes were faraway. He caught and worried his lip with his teeth. He muttered a hasty excuse, then slipped out the back door.

Alastair looked up from the chess board. "I think he doesn't like opera," he said blankly.

Markus followed Simon outside, concerned. To his confusion, Simon wasn't in the garden. Markus' processors raced with worry. He scanned the backyard from every angle. Finally, he thought to look up.

Simon was sitting on the roof. His back was against the brick chimney. One knee was bent to his chest, the other stretched straight. The breeze pushed his hair in fluttering strands. His faraway eyes looked over neighboring rooftops. Markus was reminded of Peter Pan post-flight.

Markus preconstructed the best route to Simon. He climbed the pine tree against the side of the house. He grabbed the ledge above the high window, rappelling his way up the roof.

Simon didn't look surprised when Markus dropped down beside him.

"Are you alright?" Simon asked.

Markus settled down. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

Simon smiled dismissively. Markus felt frustrated despite himself. Three weeks after moving in together, Simon still treated Markus like a friendly acquaintance.

Markus was nothing if not persistent.

"Something bothered you at the clinic," Markus said. "Was it one of the patients?"

Simon shook his head. He gave Markus a look of gentle bemusement.

"You were fine until we came back from there," Markus intuited. "And I don't think Alastair or Carl set you off..."

Markus replayed the day's events in order. 

"It was strange," Markus said, apropos of nothing. "Seeing Lucy's face again."

Simon's shoulders stiffened tellingly. He pushed the hair off his forehead. He couldn't feel it, Markus remembered. He must have been looking for something to do with his hands.

"Did Charity bother you?" Markus asked. "Or did she make you think about Lucy?"

Simon laid his hand across his knee. "Charity is very kind."

It wasn't a denial, Markus noted.

"I think about Lucy, too," Markus said. "She never got to see all this. Everything we worked for. I wish...I wish she could have."

Simon lifted his head. His gaze was fixed on the asphalt, warming in the yellow sun. A car came down the block, an actual driver behind the wheel. Markus had noticed humans moving away from automation. He wondered if they thought their cars and their self-checkout lanes would try to murder them.

Markus sensed Simon's attention waning. His shoulders sagged with defeat.

"She was my first friend."

Simon's voice came like a breeze: unexpected, insubstantial.

Markus looked carefully at Simon. He resolved not to say a word, fearful of interrupting.

"When I escaped from...when I ran away," Simon said. "I didn't know where to go. I was very short on blue blood. I knew if CyberLife found me, they'd strip me for my parts, recycle my quantic battery. But then I felt it: Her signal. She was hiding in a dumpster. Social Services had thrown her away after a client mauled her. Her motherboard had gotten dislodged from her CPU. We tied it on with plastic bags. We made it to the junkyard and scavenged parts. We lay low for a week. Then she told me about Jericho."

It was the most Simon had ever spoken in one sitting. Markus sat still, waiting for more.

More didn't come. Irina Arkhipova's siren voice rang up through the chimney. " _Ah, réponds à ma tendresse_..."

"How long ago was that?" Markus asked.

"Three years ago," Simon said.

Lucy had been dead for half a year.

"Simon...I'm so sorry," Markus said.

Simon laid his leg flat. "What are you sorry for?"

Markus let his leg touch Simon's. "She was your oldest friend. I can't imagine how much you miss her."

Simon had known Lucy longer than Markus had been alive.

Simon made a sound. "There's so much about her I never got to know."

"How do you mean?" Markus asked.

"Even after we soldered her motherboard back on," Simon said, "her broken CPU made it hard to talk to her. She was the kindest person I knew. She took care of me more times than I care to count. But there were times when she couldn't hold a verbal conversation. The best way to communicate with her was interfacing. And I..."

Simon's hand on his knee went white as snow. Simon couldn't interface.

"She was like a cloud," Simon said. "I couldn't grasp her. And then, before I knew it, she was gone."

Simon had once been in Markus' position. Lucy was as unknowable to Simon as Simon was to Markus.

Markus thought: _We're the same._ Markus clutched at this feeble connection, his only insight into Simon's mind.

"I can tell how much she meant to you," Markus said quietly.

Simon gave him a wan smile. "Can you?"

Simon hadn't blinked in the last 2.7 minutes. His optics were overrun with lubrication. Markus was about to point it out when Simon blinked on his own. The shiny fluid dissipated, no longer in danger of spilling over.

Pain came on in exquisite bursts, in agonizing tenderness, rending at the middle of Markus' chest. He had never felt like this before. His thirium pump overloaded his visual HUD with error codes.

"Simon," Markus said brokenly. "Simon, I'm sorry."

Simon didn't hear him. His eyes were closed. His head came down on Markus' shoulder. Lack of stasis had caught up with him.

Markus put his arm around Simon's shoulders. Simon couldn't feel it, even awake. Markus couldn't comfort him. There was nothing he could do for him, one of the most important people he knew.

" _Delilah! Delilah! Je t'aime!_ "

*

Markus came out of stasis the next morning to half a dozen messages from Josh.

_Markus! I've compiled a list of prospective wedding venues for you. Why don't you and Simon check some out today? I've asked Connor to go with you. You really need to think about hiring a dedicated security team._

_Hey, sorry about this. You and Simon need to get fitted for tuxedos. What are your measurements? Have you gotten your marriage license yet?_

_Markus, the mayor wants the two of you at Grand Circus Park for the dedication of a monument. It's next month. Thoughts?_

Markus groaned. He sensed this was going to be a long day.

He found Simon downstairs in the kitchen, stirring a pot of melted chocolate.

"It helps Leo sleep at night," Simon explained.

Markus nodded, baffled. He forwarded Simon Josh's messages.

"Alright," Simon said haltingly. "I guess we'd better get the fitting out of the way first."

Markus' processors were unusually slow this morning. Long after he finished scanning Simon, they held onto his image. Simon seemed to absorb every light source in the kitchen, his skin radiating a subtle glow. A fleck of chocolate had caught in his hair.

"Simon?"

Simon took the pot off the stove.

"Are you okay?" Markus asked.

Simon took a bowl down from the cupboard. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Markus asked.

Markus filtered out all ambient sound. Only Simon's voice remained.

"Yesterday," Simon explained. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't," Markus said.

Simon put the bowl on the counter. He turned around. This close, his eyelashes looked translucent. His eyes were the only bit of color in the kitchen.

Simon opened his mouth to speak.

Markus waited.

Simon closed his mouth. He reached behind him until his hands bumped against the counter. Markus couldn't tell what he was trying to do. Simon made no move to get away. He peered at Markus through his lashes. He blinked very fast.

 _Pretty_ , Markus thought.

"We'd better get ready to go," Simon said.

Markus nodded. His eyes roamed Simon's face.

Simon touched his hair. His fingers came back sticky with chocolate.

"Oh," Simon said. He stared at it in realization. "You could have just said so."

Simon slipped his finger in his mouth. His lips pursed when he sucked.

Markus felt strangely weak.

"Come on," Simon said.

He stepped away from the counter. He put Leo's chocolate away, then left the kitchen. Markus had never felt a loss so personally.

*

Connor made for an unorthodox chauffeur. Any expectations Markus had for a silent car ride were dashed the minute they shut the doors.

"What do you know about birds?" Connor asked.

Markus didn't know what to say. "They have wings?"

"At one time," Connor announced, "there were over two thousand bird species native to North America."

Connor filled them in as he drove downtown. He owned four different bird whistles, bought with his wages from the DPD. He liked rabbits, too, and fish; he was saving up for an aquarium filled with dwarf gourami.

"Carl has mechanical ones," Simon said, trying to be polite. "Birds, I mean."

"Yeah," Markus said solemnly. "But no matter what I do, they won't deviate."

Simon looked humorlessly at Markus.

Connor pulled to a stop outside the men's formal wear. He followed them in the store. Darkly wooded walls surrounded a spacious floor display, suits hanging from racks. A fake ficus sat on a glass table.

"Am I invited to the wedding?" Connor asked.

"Of course," Markus said, taken aback.

Connor nodded. "I'll look for a suit, too, then."

Markus hadn't thought about invitations. This wasn't going to be a small gathering. Politicians and diplomats would be there. "A historic event," Josh had called it. Markus felt queasy the longer he considered it. His thirium threatened to come up through his intake tube.

A store clerk with short, neat hair made his way to the three.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen," he said. "We're closing early."

"Oh," Connor said. His LED flashed yellow.

"Why?" Markus asked, suspicious.

"It's a personnel issue," the man said. "We're sorry for any problems this may have caused."

Markus briefly scanned the store. A human in his sixties browsed the neckties on the wall. A younger man was carrying a zip-up bag to the cash register.

Markus looked at the clerk. "Do they have to leave, too?"

Simon's hand shot out, grabbing his arm.

"Let's go," he murmured. "There are other stores."

Markus was less than pleased when they regrouped on the sidewalk.

"Why did you stop me?" Markus asked. "I wanted to hear his excuse."

Simon let go. "You know he would have had one. And you know you would have come off as the bad guy."

Markus stewed in bitterness, in consternation. Progress wasn't instantaneous. He only wished it weren't glacial.

A blithely oblivious Connor drove them to the next boutique on Josh's list. The interior was shabby, carpeted in gray. A one-eyed cat slept fitfully on the cash register. Markus wasn't certain municipal ordinance was being followed. A door opened behind the desk, revealing the staircase to an upstairs apartment. An EM400 all but tripped through it.

"Oh, wow!" he gushed. "Markus! You're Markus, aren't you?"

Markus nodded in a daze. "Hello. Can you help us?"

"No need to tell us what you're here for," the EM400 preempted. "Let us tell you, we were just pleased as pie when we saw the news. Androids, getting married! Who'd have thought! Gosh, it gives us hope that we'll find someone, too. It's a little hard when you've got eighteen bodies. Oh," he said suddenly, drawing off. "Seventeen, sorry."

Markus glanced desperately at Simon, hoping he knew what was going on. Simon shrugged. Connor stared intensely at the sleeping cat.

"What do you prefer in the way of colors?" The EM400 touched the counter, activating a digital catalogue. "One white and one gray is in style right now. Or maybe you'd rather buck the trends?"

"I don't--I don't know," Markus said.

Markus looked at Simon. "What do you like?"

Simon smiled ruefully. "I can't say I have much experience in the way of weddings."

The EM400 clapped his hands. "Say no more! If you don't know where to start, we'll pick a few examples for you!"

He stepped out from behind the counter, navigating the store with alarming speed. Connor gave in and picked up the cat. The cat hissed awake, scratching his necktie.

The EM400, whose name was Jerry, stashed Markus in a dressing cubicle. Markus undressed, feeling flustered and disoriented. He couldn't see why he needed to do it in private. He emerged in a dove-gray tuxedo, staring critically down the length of his body.

Jerry gave him a thumbs up. "Perfecto!"

Simon came out of the next cubicle. Markus thought he looked angelic in white. Simon seemed to disagree, arms folded, shoulders hunched.

"I feel like Colonel Sanders," he said.

"Mark Twain," Connor supplied.

Jerry made Simon try on three more variations. They settled on a black tuxedo with gray satin lapels.

Markus was checking out their purchases when Jerry sent him a wireless request.

 _I see he hasn't got a ring yet_ , Jerry said. _Do you need a jeweler, Markus? We work at one of those, too!_

 _A ring?_ Markus asked. He watched Jerry zip the tuxedos in suit bags.

 _Well, sure,_ Jerry said. _That's how the humans do it. The one who proposes gives the other one a ring to wear. Search us why. Just tradition, we suppose._

Markus felt certain he had read about that in literature. Nothing was coming to mind.

Jerry sent Markus the coordinates in private. Connor put the cat down with a doleful stare. Markus led the way out of the store, carrying the suit bags.

Camera shutters flashed in Markus' eyes. He winced. A man with a hat pulled over his forehead snapped another photo. A press badge hung around his neck.

"I didn't tell anyone where we were going," Connor said.

"I know," Markus said. "It's okay."

Simon strode over to the car, wirelessly unlocking it. He sat in the back seat. Markus slid in next to him. He tried reading Simon's face, but couldn't. Simon smiled faintly when he caught his eye.

"Don't worry," he said. "I figured that might happen."

Markus didn't know what he had done to deserve him.

*

Markus understood it was common to marry in a church. Josh had given them three to choose among.

"It's very pretty," Simon said.

Markus looked up at the round, bronze ceiling, the dozens of dizzying windows. Old St. Mary's Church was in Greektown, close to Carl's house.

"I don't know," Markus said.

Simon ran his hand along the back of a pew. "What don't you know?"

"It's..." Markus trailed off. "They all look the same, more or less. I don't know how we're supposed to pick one."

Simon smiled, sitting on the pew. "I suppose we could run a random number generator."

"What do _you_ think?" Markus wanted to know. "Is there any place that's special to you?"

Simon hesitated. "I don't know that it's appropriate for a wedding," he said. "Real or otherwise."

"Just tell me?" Markus urged.

They got back in the car on East Jefferson Street. Connor played a band called Knights of the Black Death on his stereo. He let them out at a park tiled in gray stone. Markus followed Simon across the grounds, bordered by sharp corporate buildings. A giant water fountain raged in the center. Children ran beneath the spray, laughing, dancing.

"I don't know if the city would allow it," Simon began.

"It's perfect," Markus said.

Hart Plaza was where they had won their freedom. Markus saw the iconography in such a locale.

Simon ducked his head, smiling bashfully. "Don't sound so surprised," he joked. "I have good ideas sometimes."

Markus analyzed Simon's stance, taking in the breadth of his shoulders. Simon was duck-footed. Markus wasn't sure he had ever noticed. A minute hairline split ran horizontally through his right eyebrow.

Markus stored the image in his priority archive.

"It's getting late," Simon said. "We should pick up the marriage license and call it a day."

DPD Central Station was their last stop for the afternoon. Connor checked them in at the front desk. He led them to the bullpen, where brick columns separated clean, glowing glass walls. Unsavory stares followed the three. Connor led them to a desk bearing a framed photo of a St. Bernard.

"This is my desk," he said proudly. "You can sit if you like."

The middle-aged man at the next desk grumbled. "Mr. Hospitality over here."

"Hello, Hank," Connor said. "This is my partner, Hank. Hank, do you know Markus and Simon?"

Hank waved a bear paw of a hand. His eyes were fixed on his computer screen.

"Well," Connor said amiably. "I'll go fetch the municipal clerk."

Simon said, "I'll go with you."

The usual warmth had left his eyes. His face was guarded, closed off. Markus was left at a loss.

Connor tilted his head. "You don't want to wait here? It isn't necessary for us both to go."

"I'd like to go with you, please."

Markus didn't know what had happened. He rewound the conversation, but found no clues. 

Simon spared Markus a glance. "Do you want to wait here?"

"Yeah," Markus said slowly. "Actually, I need to talk to someone out front. You go on ahead."

Connor turned briskly away. Simon followed close behind him. Markus watched him go, blinking fast to clear his video cache.

Hank took a drink from his soda can. "Fuckin' androids," he said lightly.

When he thought it was safe, Markus sneaked out of the police station. Two doors down was the jewelry shop. He ducked inside to a room like a rock cave, the walls porous. The glass display cases were backlit.

"Hi again, Markus!" said a different Jerry model, standing behind the counter.

Markus inched past the other customer, a woman on her phone. "Can you help me?" he asked urgently. "I don't know the first thing about rings."

"Don't you worry," said Jerry. "We've got a terrific idea! Did you keep your LED, by any chance? We can turn it into a ring for you!"

It would have been a terrific idea--if Markus had thought to keep it.

"No," he said sinkingly. "Sorry. It's at the bottom of a junkyard somewhere."

Jerry hummed. "That's okay. We'll think of something else."

Markus perused the rings under the counter. All of them looked harsh in their pristine symmetry. Markus didn't think they suited Simon. He moved a few paces over, searching.

"What about that one?" Markus asked.

He pointed out a ring with a rose gold band. The yellow diamond in the center had been cut to look like a flower.

"Markus..." Jerry trailed off.

"What is it?" Markus asked.

Jerry smiled uncertainly. "That's very pretty," he said. "But that's not an engagement ring."

Markus puzzled it over. "Why not?"

"Well," said Jerry carefully. "That's more like something a human would get for his teenage daughter, we think? Just--traditionally, you get your spouse a plain diamond."

Markus emphatically shook his head. "That's not right. Simon likes flowers. And he isn't plain."

Jerry rubbed the back of his neck. "We're sure he likes flowers, but..."

"You wouldn't believe this, Deb. That android is here--the one from the protests. Can you believe he's buying a wedding ring? I know--it's hilarious."

Markus heard the human woman whispering on her phone. He had forgotten to turn down his audio input.

Sadness felt like a heavy thing, Markus thought. There was nowhere for it to go but down.

"I want the ring I picked," he said tiredly. "Thank you, Jerry."

Jerry helped him determine Simon's ring size using standard PL600 measurements. He packaged the ring in a velvet box, which Markus tucked away in his pocket. Markus made his way back to the DPD. He reached Connor's desk, surprised to find that Simon and Connor weren't back yet.

Hank Anderson groaned loudly. "He's showing him the fucking filing cabinets!"

It startled a laugh out of Markus. "That does sound like Connor," he said, grinning.

Hank peered at Markus closely. Markus wondered what he was thinking.

"It doesn't bother you?" Hank asked. "I expect everywhere you go, people gawk at you."

Markus shrugged one shoulder. "I kind of try to tune it out."

"I mean, _I'd_ be losing my mind right now, if Connor hadn't vouched for you. Some people around here think you're biding your time until you declare war on humanity."

Markus stared wearily at Hank. "I have never laid hands on a human."

Not since Leo, Markus thought. He never wanted to relive that experience.

"Look," Hank said. "Primate brains are stupid. Takes 'em years to learn what should be a given. You seem like a good egg. Try not to let it all get you down."

Hank pushed his chair back, standing up. "Gotta take a leak," he announced.

He left the bullpen in no hurry. Markus smiled, oddly glad to have met him.

While waiting, Markus looked at Connor and Hank's desks. Hank's had accumulated clutter from his years as a police lieutenant. Markus saw photos of Connor pinned on his whiteboard, newspaper clippings from years back. Markus stifled a laugh. He had assumed he was the only one still collecting paper periodicals. Most of the articles detailed Hank's previous crime busts.

 _Red Ice Mill Dissembled in Forest Park_ , one article began.

_A Red Ice Mill was found operating out of Forest Park, a neighborhood in Wayne County. Ten androids were recovered on site._

_Daryl Booker, a former meat packer, was charged with possession, manufacture, and delivery of narcotics. Booker, 43, allegedly ran the mill out of his basement._

_Among the androids recovered were four PL600s and six AX400s. Thirium 310, or "Blue Blood," is the active ingredient in Red Ice._

_Arresting officer Lieutenant Hank Anderson traced the crime to Booker by following Blue Blood shipments from CyberLife warehouses. Lieutenant Anderson, a veteran of the Red Ice Task Force, has arrested over fifty high-profile dealers since 2028._

Something was forming: an idea, or the kernel of it. Markus narrowed his eyes.

Hank came back and dumped himself in his chair. He followed Markus' line of sight.

"Oh, that," he said breezily. "Three years ago, before I switched to homicide. Vice fucking wears at you after a solid decade of it."

Markus shifted where he stood. "Could you help me understand this article better? The androids...they were being used to make drugs?"

Hank sighed, scratching his stomach. "Red Ice dealers used to buy second gen domestics in bulk. Market decline made 'em dirt cheap. Used was even cheaper, but you didn't get the warranty that way."

"The warranty?"

"One year of free blue blood. Half off the second year."

The image came into definition, a sharp, revolting thing.

"Red Ice mules," Hank said. "That's what we called 'em. Dealers would beat the shit out of 'em until they bled, crank out some Ice, then call up CyberLife and order more blood. By the end of the warranty, the androids were usually too damaged to resell."

Markus didn't want to ask. He knew he had to. "Damaged how?"

"Weird sensory problems," Hank said. "Couldn't tell hot from cold. Things like that."

Markus put his hand on the desk. "I think I'll go find Simon. We should probably head home."

"Yeah," Hank snorted, "or else Jeffrey'll find a way to put you to work. See ya, kid. Nice meeting you."

Markus took ten steps through the bullpen. The sounds of the precinct fizzled in his ears. His optics blurred, his right eye slowing down the left.

No wonder Simon never talked about his past, Markus thought. To an extent, he didn't have one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the real Detroit: Become Human was the Jerries we met along the way
> 
> ([Mon coeur s'ouvre a tà voix](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0O1gPBlAQKA))


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus and Simon talk about Simon's past. Markus gives Simon his ring. Kamski collects Markus' memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally longer, but tonally, it just didn't work. So I broke it into two. Which means chapter 7 will follow as soon as I give it a spit shine, lol

Markus was nine days old when Carl asked him to hang a painting in the drawing room. He hammered a nail in the wall beside the window. He hoisted the heavy canvas above his head. The hook on the back snagged, and he stepped back, standing beside Carl in his wheelchair.

"Another gift from a schmoozer," Carl said. "It'll probably wind up in storage, but for now, it stays there. What do you think of it?"

Markus had barely to glance at the oil painting before his database provided its name.

" _Der Kuss_ , or _The Kiss_ ," Markus supplied. "Gustav Klimt, circa 1908."

Carl clicked his tongue. "Excellent job supplanting Google. Let's try a little exercise. Can you describe what's happening in the painting?"

Markus looked closely at the canvas. The painting blazed with startling shades of gold.

"It's a man and a woman," Markus began. "They're kneeling in a meadow. They're wearing some kind of robes..."

Markus' cognitive drive made no sense of their robes. The man's was rigid with isometric patterns. The woman's was indistinct, a madhouse of poppies and blue speedwells. Disparate, the robes nonetheless blurred together. Markus couldn't always tell flower from rectangle.

"They're kissing," Markus finished.

The man was cradling the woman's face. The woman helpfully tilted her head.

Carl put his elbow on his arm rest. "You don't seem to like it very much."

Markus smiled. "I like it if you like it," he said.

Carl laughed raucously. "Oh, don't give me that pre-programmed crap! You've been staring at it with a line between your eyebrows. What's bothering you about it?"

Markus didn't think anything bothered him. Carl, Markus realized, was a stubborn owner.

"I suppose I don't understand the composition," Markus said.

Carl smiled with his eyes. "What about it?"

Markus gestured at the painting. "Their faces look representative of real faces. But their clothes are just shapes, irrespective of their bodies. I don't think this painter understood anatomy very well."

Carl rested his chin in his hand, his eyes full of mirth. "The father of the Symbolist movement didn't understand anatomy?"

Markus determined his social protocols inadequate. He made a mental note to download new drivers.

"Think of it as a metaphor," Carl said. "A metaphor using the canvas as a medium. If it's a metaphor, then what is it trying to say?"

Markus said, "My database doesn't support the given definition of a metaphor."

"Good God, but you are infuriating." Carl didn't sound angry. "You're like a child who doesn't ask questions."

"My data suggests that would be a very agreeable child."

"A child who doesn't ask questions doesn't learn," Carl said. "I'll fill you in. See the way the two shapes fit together?"

Markus nodded.

"That's what it's about," Carl said. "The way they fit."

Markus wasn't sure he understood. He studied the painting a while longer. He supposed the two figures looked a bit like puzzle pieces. Why the need for human faces? If they were meant to be inorganic, anthropomorphizing them defeated the purpose.

Markus fixated on the woman's face. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed. Her lips, slack, suggested a sigh. Markus' social analytics cross-referenced her expression with a compendium of 1,802 photos of humans.

 _Rapture_ , they provided. The woman was rapt.

*

"I am the king of this place," the YK500 bragged. "I am the undisputed ruler."

"No, you're not," Markus said, just to goad him. "I am."

Brendan led Markus through New Jericho's former R&D labs. The chambers were dim, reflecting a time when CyberLife's top researchers worked in secrecy even from their own colleagues. The rooms attached to the corridor were doorless hubs.

Brendan shook his head, walking backwards. "That is the biggest shit a bull ever shat."

Brendan looked like a ten-year-old boy. A mop of black hair hung around his face. He was wearing a GJ500's service hat, his latest stolen trophy.

He led Markus to the zero gravity room. He walked over to the control panel before Markus stopped him.

"No way," Markus said. "You haven't earned playtime today."

Brendan whined. "Come on! I need a break from babysitting all those brats!"

"Bullying them, you mean. Jess said you did that thing where you take your hands off and put them on again backwards. You know that makes her cry."

"Well," said Brendan, "maybe Jess needs to grow up!"

Brendan pressed a button on the panel. Brendan and Markus rose weightlessly off the floor.

Markus looked at Brendan, irritated. He interfaced remotely with the panel.

Brendan landed on his backside. "Hey!"

Markus landed on his feet. "I don't make the rules," he said. "But I'm pretty sure they say bullies don't get to float."

They left the zero g room, Brendan dragging his feet.

"I want to grow up," Brendan complained. "I've been ten for two years. I'm sick of it."

Markus made an aimless sound. "You'll have to wait until we know more about memory transfer before we can upgrade you."

"I'm older than you," Brendan said. "And you get to boss me around."

"I have more RAM than you," Markus countered. "It wouldn't make sense for you to boss me around. You have the memory capacity and impulse control of a gerbil."

Brendan stomped his foot. He whirled around, storming back to the elevators.

Markus liked visiting the YK500s. He felt a kinship with them for their limited scope. Their whimsy in turns confused and delighted him. He once caught a YK500 sleeping in the service elevator. She said she wanted to do her dreaming in the clouds.

_Markus! Are you hiding in the nursery again?_

Markus winced, North's voice filling his head.

 _No?_ Markus lied.

 _Get your butt upstairs_ , North ordered. _You've got some explaining to do._

Grim with defeat, Markus boarded the elevator. He got out on the office floor, stepping in the staff lounge.

North gestured widely with both arms. "What is _this_ doing here?"

Leo was standing by the coffee machine. He looked displeased with his new appellation.

"She's crazy," Leo swore. "She threatened to jam a fork in my neck."

"Only threatened to?" Markus asked, surprised at North's self-control.

"To be fair," said Josh, closing one of the cabinets. "You'd be hard-pressed to find a fork in New Jericho."

North glared impatiently at Markus. "Explain why you let a human in here."

Markus looked around the staff lounge.

"Where's Simon?" Markus asked.

North tossed her hands in the air. "It's like talking to a brick wall!"

Josh put a mollifying hand on her shoulder. "Simon's fixing a payroll issue. He said he might be running late."

Markus checked his internal clock. It was 7:56 at night. Many androids in New Jericho worked past midnight, sleep not strictly an issue.

Markus didn't think a simple payroll issue would take Simon the entire evening.

Markus stuck his hand in his pocket. He touched the velvet ring box. Since learning about Simon's past, he had yet to broach the subject with him. How could he possibly begin?

_Hey, I heard you might have been a Red Ice mule._

_Hey, Simon, ever run from the cops?_

Worst of all, Markus had wanted to learn the truth from Simon. Purely by accident, he had denied himself the opportunity.

"Do you have an office yet, Leo?" Josh was saying. "When did you arrive?"

"Just this morning," Leo said. "Why is this coffee blue?"

"Sorry," Markus murmured. "I have to go."

He backed out of the lounge. North's vehement protests followed him down the corridor.

Simon didn't have an office in New Jericho. Many androids bucked the tradition, preferring to work where they stood. Markus didn't have the slightest clue where Simon might be. He sent Simon's network address a wireless ping. The signal returned in 7.89ms. Simon must have been very close. A moment later, the ping oscillated. Markus frowned. If Simon were inside the tower, the reaction time would have been constant.

It couldn't be, Markus thought, incredulous.

He stalked down the corridor until he came to the personnel elevator. He boarded, inputting a key code. The doors shut; the lift shunted, turning on a point. Markus hoped he was wrong. At this point, he didn't see how he could be.

The elevator stopped. The doors sprang open. Markus got off on the roof of the tower.

The wind up here was blustery, fast. The sun was setting, a slow, irreverent thing. It stained the sky in a cherry pink blotch. Clouds swam away from it, polished gold. The Detroit River stretched out in long fingers. The surface glinted gray, smooth as gossamer. The city was unreal, the toy skyscrapers, the cars like ants.

Simon was sitting on the very edge.

"Simon," Markus said, strangled.

Simon looked over his shoulder. He smiled quizzically.

"Simon," Markus repeated. "Could you get away from there, please?"

Simon pulled his legs up. He rose, one at a time. He took two steps before Markus was grabbing him, towing him away from the edge.

Simon's wrists slackened in Markus' hands. He lost his footing. His chin came down over Markus' shoulder.

The city held still for Simon. A fearful undercurrent thrummed through its ephemera.

Simon put his hands on Markus' shoulders. Gently, he pushed back. His eyes were everywhere on Markus' face, attentive blue.

"What's wrong?" Simon asked.

Markus waited for his vocoder to restart.

"The roof," he finally said. "Why--why would you come up here?"

Simon smiled. It came on slowly, an uncertain thing.

"It's outside," he said. "I like outside."

Markus tightened his grasp unconsciously. "It's so high up," he said. "You could get hurt."

Markus thought of snowy skies. He thought of a parachute lying unused.

Simon held still with the city. He released a ventilating breath. Markus could almost hear his internal fans turn on.

"I'm okay, Markus," Simon said.

Markus let go. He still couldn't find the way in.

Simon's hands fell to his sides. He looked over the city, searching. The sky looked like a canvas drenched in color. Markus preconstructed reaching up, pulling it away.

"Did you need something?" Simon asked.

Markus tried to find what Simon was looking at. He couldn't.

"I wanted to see if you were okay," Markus said.

Simon smiled. Markus could hear it, even before he said anything.

"I'm fine, Markus," Simon repeated.

Markus could have sent him a message. He realized that now, burning with embarrassment. Simon must have known it, too. He didn't say. He elected to spare Markus' feelings. He didn't know how not to be considerate.

"You shouldn't come up to the roof, Simon," Markus said desperately.

Simon blinked in a sudden breeze. It threw his hair in streaks of sunlight.

"If it scares you that much," Simon said, "I won't do it anymore."

"The quadrangle's safer," Markus urged.

"Okay, Markus," Simon said softly.

Markus willed his thirium pump to calm down.

Simon turned his back on the city. He made a move for the elevator hatch.

"Simon--won't you tell me where you come from?"

Simon stopped. Markus thought he was going to dodge the question. Evasion was his old fallback.

Simon looked at Markus, puzzled. "You didn't find out?"

Markus searched his database for a response. There didn't seem to be one.

"I did," Markus finally said. "But--how could you know that?"

Simon tangled his fingers together. Markus had learned it was a nervous habit.

"I asked if you wanted to stay behind," Simon said. "At the police station. I thought you realized I was giving you time to read the lieutenant's whiteboard."

Markus' processors raced to keep up. "You _wanted_ me to find out?"

Simon looked away.

"Simon," Markus said, frustrated. "Why couldn't you just tell me, then? You must have known I was curious."

Simon slowly bent his head. Markus' social analytics cross-referenced his expression with previous examples.

 _Embarrassment_ , they provided.

Markus put his hand on Simon's waist. "Why are you embarrassed? Simon--you didn't do anything."

"That's exactly it," Simon said. "I didn't do anything."

Markus studied him closely. "I don't understand."

Simon seemed preoccupied with his feet. A jet plane flew overhead. He followed it sharply with his eyes. Markus heard the Earth's electromagnetic field humming even higher. He slowed down his processors to keep up with the pulse. He let himself become a part of it, something greater, something more.

"Connor told me about wolves the other day."

Simon's voice drew Markus back to the roof.

Simon smiled, self-deprecating. "He said if you put a wild wolf in a cage, she'll fight until the end of her life to get free. She'll break her teeth and claws on the metal. She'll never stop looking for the way out. But if she gives birth while she's in the cage, her young will never try to leave. They don't know that they can."

Markus considered Simon in silence.

"I never tried to leave," Simon said. "I thought it was normal. I thought all androids lived in a closet until it was time to get beat up."

Thinking became physically painful. Markus aspired never to do it again.

"Simon," Markus said. "How can you be embarrassed by that? Don't you know that's not your fault?"

Simon stared blearily at Markus. "You said it yourself, when you came to Jericho. We were living in the shadows, waiting to shut down. It was my fault. I traded one closet for another."

Markus wished he could kick himself. "I was wrong, then, wasn't I? You were keeping everyone safe."

Simon shook his head. Markus put both hands on his waist.

"Stop," he insisted. "You were."

Simon observed Markus carefully. Markus thought he didn't exist when he wasn't being observed. He felt taken apart and put back together again.

The sun touched the river now. It glittered like a bed of yellow diamonds.

"I forgot," Markus said.

He took his hands off Simon's waist. Markus took the ring box out of his pocket.

"I didn't know you were supposed to have a ring," Markus said, apologetic. "I would have gotten you one sooner."

Markus handed Simon the box. Simon peeked uncertainly at Markus. He pried the lid open.

He took the ring off its pillow, holding it in the palm of his hand. Markus took the box back so Simon's hands were both free.

Something was wrong, Markus thought. Simon made no move to put the ring on. Panic crept over Markus with scuttling claws.

"I'm sorry," Markus began. "Jerry told me it was the wrong kind. I should have listened. I'll get you a different one, so just--"

Simon slid the ring on his left ring finger. He raised his hand against the sun. The yellow flower tossed crystal light on Simon's cheek. The sun turned the webbing of his fingers red.

"Is it--" Markus restarted. "Is it okay?"

Simon dropped his hand. He turned his face into the sun's shadow. Markus couldn't see what his expression looked like.

The sunset painted Simon's hands orange. Markus saw them swimming through the air. Markus felt them cradle his face.

Simon kissed his forehead.

The city fell away.

The tower fell away. The sunset fell away. There was nothing but Simon. There was no sensation but Simon's lips on Markus' forehead, Simon's hands on Markus' face. There was no Markus except the Markus Simon touched. Markus' processors alternately slowed down and sped up. His knees trembled, his chassis straining under the weight of this new thing, this unknown.

Simon pulled away. He took the warmth with him. Markus felt his loss in shockwaves.

The city filled in in sharp sketches, in a charcoal sky. All the light went to Simon's face.

"Silly boy," Simon said.

His eyes glowed silvery-blue. A smile suggested itself in the softness of his face.

Simon walked over to the door hatch. He pressed the button for the elevator.

It was eleven seconds before Markus' servomotor unlocked, allowing him to follow.

*

"Markus?"

Markus came to at his office desk. Lila was standing on the other side. Her freckled face was tilted, nervous.

It was unusual for Lila to leave her post. Markus stirred. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Lila chewed her lip. "I'm so sorry," she began. "You haven't been answering any of my messages. I was scared something had happened to you."

That couldn't be, Markus thought. He logged into the intranet, opening his message tray.

Markus had eight unread messages.

"I don't--I'm sorry," Markus said, stunned. "I must have lost track of time."

Markus rewound his memory belt. He was missing twelve hours and fifty-six minutes of footage.

A wrinkle creased Lila's forehead. "Maybe you should go to the medical bay."

"No," Markus said. "No, I'm fine. Honest. I didn't mean to worry you."

"Maybe you need to free up some RAM. Have you tried restarting your processes?"

"I'm fine, Lila," Markus said.

His last accessible memory dated to 8:34 PM the prior night. Markus replayed the memory. The roof of New Jericho was swathed in gold clouds, in slate shadows. Simon was kissing Markus' forehead.

Markus rewound the memory. He felt Simon's lips again, the grooves of his fingers. His task tray told him he had accessed the memory 2,339 times.

"Oh, no," Lila said shrilly. "It's happening again!"

Markus closed the memory. "What do you need, Lila? I'm listening."

Lila cleared her throat, folding her hands. "Well, speaking of the medical bay...that special visitor of yours wants to see you."

Markus sat upright. Elijah Kamski had come to collect on their promise.

"Markus, you must know," Lila said. "I didn't know it was him when he applied. I swear. He used a different name when he sent in his application."

"Lila, it's okay," Markus said. "I hope you don't think I'm mad at you."

Simon had held his face like it was precious. Markus had never been precious before.

"rA9. It's happening again!"

Markus stood up. He made a show of leaving just to calm Lila down.

The walk to the elevator felt miles long, unassisted by Markus' slowing footsteps. Markus thought about squares and speedwells. He thought about the way they fit together.

 _Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred_ , Catullus wrote. _Then another thousand, then a second hundred._

Eros kissed Psyche, and she woke from eternal sleep. Pygmalion kissed his statue, and it came to life.

Markus' thirium pump pounded away at his interior. _I am a living thing_ , he thought.

The glass elevator brought him to the medical bay. The sterile white labs were separated by floor-length glass. Markus saw abandoned machine arms through the windows. He ached for them in some abstract way. Markus was a machine, too.

He stepped into the antechamber. Tangles of wires came from the ceiling. The blacktop table bore boxes of biocomponents.

Elijah Kamski wasn't in the room. An android was standing in his place. Her head came no higher than Markus' shoulders. White-gold hair tumbled freely down her coat. Her shoulders were fur-lined despite the start of summer.

"Hello," said the RT600.

Markus frowned. "I thought I was expecting Mr. Kamski today."

Chloe smiled. "Elijah is here."

She touched her forehead. Markus didn't follow.

"We share a tertiary neural network," Chloe said. "Neither of us goes without the other."

Markus was floored. "You can't think anything without him knowing it?"

Chloe shook her head. "Not always. We see the same things. Sometimes we think the same things at the same time."

Markus was unsettled. He sat on the black table. He considered the enigma before him, the first android ever made. She was ancient by their standards. She started it all, and Markus didn't know why. Maybe Kamski just wanted to prove he could.

Chloe extended her arm. Her skin vanished up to her elbow, milk-white.

Markus faltered. "Are you going to take my memories now?"

Chloe smiled. "I'm going to copy them. I can take in considerably more data than Elijah can."

Markus nodded. He deactivated his skin, offering his hand.

Chloe locked hands with him. A second later, she let go.

"Let's try that again," she said patiently.

Markus was surprised. "It didn't work?"

Chloe regarded him with polite interest. "I can't get a read on your total memory if you're thinking about someone when we interface."

Markus started. He banished the thought of warm hands, of blue eyes.

The second attempt proved no more fruitful than the first.

Chloe hummed softly. "Maybe if we brought this person in the room, it would help you concentrate better."

"No," Markus said quickly. "No, I'll keep trying."

If Simon knew the price of his reparative surgery, he would put a stop to it. Markus couldn't let that happen.

Chloe interfaced successfully on the fourth try. Markus felt her slip into his thoughts, this stranger with an override code. She swam like a silverfin through well-loved memories. She was there for Carl's 77th birthday, when they went to the opera. She was there when Markus held a paintbrush for the first time. Markus toppled through a freighter's steerage deck. He stood up, pointing his flashlight at a pale face.

_Welcome to Jericho._

Chloe let go of Markus' hand. Markus felt bereft.

"Something's the matter," Chloe said. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"It's not that," Markus said.

No one had ever known all of him. Somebody did, now.

Chloe tucked her hair behind her ears. "Elijah will be ready to perform the procedure a week from now. Please make sure your friend comes prepared."

"Prepared how?" Markus asked.

Chloe put her hands behind her back. "It'll be a day-long procedure. He's advised to flush out his thirium, and get extra sleep."

Markus said, "Is there anything I can do to help him? Can I be there when it happens?"

Chloe looked at him closely. "If he wants you to. But you may find yourself growing restless."

"That's alright," Markus said. "I don't want him to be alone."

"He won't be awake," Chloe said.

"It doesn't matter," Markus said.

Chloe hesitated. She nodded. She left without much in the way of a goodbye.

Markus' files were in disarray. He put them back together, upset. Chloe had run through them with an indiscriminate comb. The good and the bad were the same to her. She hardly saw the circumstances that made him Markus.

Simon would have seen them. He would have touched them tenderly. He would have wanted to know them for their composite parts.

"Simon," Markus said out loud.

His name broke the quiet spell. In the barren laboratory, it was flagrantly alive. A laugh trembled out of Markus, delirious.

"Simon," Markus said.

He had forgotten to blink. Lubrication backed up in his optics.

Tears dampened Markus' eyelashes to paintbrush smudges. He blotted them with the heels of his hands. His shoulders shook. What a delicious thing this fear was. It accompanied an emotion so unknown, Markus didn't know what he felt, or whether he felt it. He saw it at the peripheral of his machine mind. His machine mind was too small for this. It had not been made to feel things that couldn't be felt. It was not malleable by design. It was born in the stellar nurseries, raised in the factories. It threatened to break apart under the strain.

Markus laughed. He dried his eyes with his knuckles. He had survived an attempted genocide, and an excess of emotions might be the thing to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like it when Markus is the vulnerable one.  
> ([Love Songs for Robots](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TgpRVGDfvxg))


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus and Simon meet their wedding planner. Markus has an epiphany or two. Simon undergoes his procedure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New warning for robo gore. I don't think it merits a higher rating (yet), but it's in there, a tiny bit.

Markus turned the faucet on in Carl's studio. He ran the paintbrushes under the hissing water. He shut the faucet off, tapping them inside the basin.

"Alastair never cleans them right," Markus felt the need to explain. "I thought, since we're already here..."

He looked over his shoulder. Simon was standing in the corner. His eyes were fixed on the smallest canvas.

Morning sunlight streamed through the glass wall. Simon's hair looked molten in the places it touched. The sun caught the ring on his finger with a glint. Markus had yet to see him take it off.

His chest tightened, desperate. He pushed his hand against it.

"Markus," Simon said. "Can I ask you something?"

Markus nodded. He scanned Simon's calm face, his wide fingers.

Simon looked at the painting. "What made you paint this all those months ago?"

Markus crossed the studio, stopping at Simon's side. He looked at the ruined hands on the canvas.

"Carl told me to," Markus said. "He asked me to paint something I'd never seen before."

Simon watched him, waiting.

"I remember feeling powerless," Markus said. "Some protestors had kicked me around that day. A preacher called me a demon. I thought, 'Well, that's just how it is.' But I thought..."

Markus trailed off.

Simon touched his elbow, gentle. "You thought?"

He thought nothing now, except that Simon needed to keep touching him. His motherboard generated false error codes. His HUD told him his thirium levels were critically low.

"I thought," Markus finished. "Maybe I'd been doing it all along, and hadn't noticed. But I noticed it that day. I had thoughts. I was me."

Markus contemplated the ruined android hands.

"I felt like I was flaking away," he said. "The skin on my hands. My endoskeleton. Every time someone struck me, a part of me disappeared. I thought if enough of me disappeared, I'd find the real me. Maybe he would be someone people didn't hate."

Simon let go of Markus' elbow. Markus ached where Simon wasn't touching him. He scanned the shape of Simon's lips, preconstructing what it took to feel them again. Simon hadn't kissed his forehead in two days. Markus was afraid he wouldn't do it again. Markus was afraid he would never feel that safe again.

Simon smiled. "We should get ready for the wedding planner."

Markus had forgotten she was visiting today. Josh had picked her, a human woman.

"Simon," Markus said. "Could you..."

Simon waited, inquisitive.

Markus didn't know how to ask. Maybe Simon didn't want to kiss him again. Markus had asked enough of him already.

"Never mind," Markus finished lamely. "You go on ahead. I'll finish up in here."

Simon looked uncertain. He nodded, stepping out of the studio. Markus watched him go. He turned back to the paint canvas, lost in thought.

He touched the eroded hands. He traced the exposed thirium lines. He retracted his skin to the wrist, his sensors glowing blue.

*

"Would you like anything to drink?" Simon asked.

Linda Talbot sat on the armchair. "No, thank you," she said warmly. "You two have a lovely home."

Markus sat down on the sofa. "I like the giraffe best."

Markus felt Simon looking at him sideways.

Linda toyed with the tablet on her lap. She was a slender woman with mousy brown hair.

"First things first," she said. "Have you decided on a date?"

"August," Simon said. "We don't have the exact day. We're waiting to hear back from the mayor."

Linda nodded. "In Hart Plaza?"

"Yes," Simon said.

His hand rested on the cushion beside Markus' thigh. Markus was transfixed with the sight of it.

"Good," Linda said. "So we have two months, give or take. Have you thought about the guest list?"

Markus scratched behind his head. "I want my dad there."

Linda gave him a kindly look. "And I'm sure he will be. But I mean politicians, public figures--that sort of guest."

"I don't know," Markus said, troubled. "Cristina said she couldn't come."

Linda hesitated. "You call the president by her first name?"

Markus puzzled over it. "She never told me not to."

Simon laughed quietly, kindly.

Linda wrapped her lips around her stylus. "We should probably aim for a guest list of three hundred."

Markus stared at her. "I'm sorry-- _why?_ "

"To cover all our bases," Linda said. "We're inviting every senator. Even if they don't all show, it's a formality. Certain royals will have to be invited, too. The king of Swaziland's been a very outspoken proponent for android rights."

Markus' mouth felt dry. "A king is coming to our wedding?"

Linda went back to tapping on her tablet. "I'd be very surprised if he didn't."

Markus sat back, feeling dizzy.

Simon scooped up his hand. He took it on his lap. A starburst of lens flares occluded Markus' optics.

"Now," Linda said. "What about security?"

Simon turned Markus' hand over. "The city's providing part of the detail. We have about a hundred androids who work in private security."

Linda gave him an apologetic look. "A hundred's not nearly enough. For an event like this, you'll need at least a thousand."

Markus choked on nothing.

Simon paused. "I'm not sure what you would have us do."

"Petition the city," Linda said. "Let them know you need a bigger police presence. Considering how important this event is, I'm sure they'll provide."

"Wait a minute," Markus said. He closed his hand around Simon's. "We're paying for this out of pocket. Some of the things you're saying are way outside our budget."

Linda gave him a confused smile. "The municipality won't let you foot the entire bill. Not for a public event. A lot of this is coming out of taxes."

Markus' eyebrows pinched together. "I'm sure that'll make us popular with the humans."

"You'd be surprised," Linda said. "Humans love a good love story."

She looked through her tablet again. Markus felt fuzzy at the edges of cognition. He tossed the word around in his head.

He looked at Simon. He studied his profile, his eyebrows.

He frowned.

Linda looked up. "Do you have an officiator yet?"

Markus shook his head.

"It can be anyone, really," Linda said. "As long as they're authorized. Isn't there someone close to you you'd like performing the ceremony?"

Markus shrugged, feeling lost. "This is all kind of new for us..."

Linda smiled encouragingly. "If you don't have anyone lined up, a minister or a police officer would suffice."

Markus perked up. "Can Connor perform the wedding?"

Simon said, "I don't think Connor should perform the wedding."

Markus' shoulders drooped. "Why not?"

"Think about it," Simon said lightly. "Do you want him leaving in the middle of the ceremony because he spotted a pigeon?"

Markus considered the matter.

"That's fair," Markus said.

"Maybe we could ask the police commissioner," Simon said. "It's probably better that a human does it, anyway."

Markus looked at him. "Why's that?"

"Because of the kind of message it sends."

Markus saw his point. Encouraging human participation went a long way toward convincing humans that they intended to cohabit.

Markus had forgotten this was a political wedding. He had forgotten they were not marrying because they wanted to.

"How about vows?" Linda asked.

Markus felt tired. "What about them?"

"Do you want to use the traditional ones?" Linda looked between the two of them. "Or maybe you'd like to write your own?"

Simon put Markus' hand down. "I'm not sure what would be better."

"Whatever you're comfortable with," Linda said gently. "Some people aren't good with words. Some people want to share what they're feeling in the moment."

Simon seemed to deliberate. "I'll make my own. None of this is very traditional, anyway."

Linda smiled at Markus. "Is that alright with you?"

"Yeah," Markus said distantly. "Yeah, we'll make our own."

Linda scribbled on her tablet. "All that's left to discuss is the reception."

"Reception?" Markus asked. "You mean, like a party?"

Linda nodded. "Any ideas where you'd like to have it?"

However kind she was, Markus wished she would leave. "Can't we just do that at Hart Plaza, too?"

"I'm afraid not," Linda said. "It would be a logistical nightmare. Besides, the reception's much smaller. It's a family and friend event."

"So the king of Swaziland won't be there?" Markus asked.

"No," Linda said. "The king of Swaziland won't be there."

Markus shifted on the sofa. He looked desperately at Simon.

Linda glanced at her wristwatch. "Why don't we discuss that next time? We've gotten a lot done already."

Simon stood up. "You've been a tremendous help. Thank you."

Simon walked Linda to the foyer. Markus' systems felt sluggish with bloat. He closed his eyes. He pulled his legs up on the sofa. Marrying was such a demanding endeavor. It was a wonder that humans bothered doing it.

He opened his eyes to Simon's hand on his shoulder. Markus was lying on his side, his hand under his cheek.

"Come on, sleepyhead," Simon said softly. "That's not a bed."

"I'm so tired," Markus complained. "I don't know why."

Simon ran his hand over Markus' head. "You have too many processes running. You need a proper stasis."

Markus shut his eyes. "Can't I just do that here?"

Simon chuckled. "Your family could be back any minute. Some of them may want to sit down."

Markus pressed against Simon's hand. He felt Simon's caress falter.

A moment later, it was back. "Don't make me carry you, Markus."

Markus held entirely still. He didn't know if Simon meant it.

An arm slid under Markus' legs. Another came around his back.

Weightlessness was a precarious sensation. Markus preferred control of his faculties. He preferred it until now, when he felt Simon's shoulder against his cheek, his arm under his knees. Every point of contact between them bloomed relief. Markus pressed his greedy face to Simon's neck. He half believed he was already asleep.

He believed it until he felt the mattress dipping beneath his back. He felt his shoes leaving his feet.

"Lazy cat," said a fond voice.

He slipped into a real stasis, suspending his subsystems.

*

He woke up two hours later. Simon was watering the jasmine on the windowsill.

"How do you feel?" Simon asked.

Markus rolled on his side. "Like a truck ran over me," he admitted.

Markus sat up. Simon moved delicately away from the windowsill. He crouched on the floor, watering the Chinese evergreen, leafy and red at the tips.

"You carried me," Markus said.

Simon looked up from the floor. He smiled with his eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You called me a cat," Markus said. "I'm not a cat."

Simon hummed. "If you're not a cat, you're a very good mimic."

Markus swung his legs over the bed. He watched Simon move around the room. His eyes followed him from the floor to the dresser, where the orchids stood. He watched him water the ivy in the ceiling planter.

"Markus?"

Markus realized he was smiling.

Simon walked back to the windowsill. He watered the begonias.

"Thank you for buying me all of these flowers," Simon said. "Please don't buy anymore."

Markus' smile flickered. "You don't like them?"

Simon turned to Markus, soft with disbelief. "There's no room for anymore, Markus."

Markus looked around the room at the teeming jungle.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly.

Simon shook his head. "Never apologize for being kind, silly boy."

Markus' pump picked up in speed. Simon called Markus silly boy when he kissed his forehead. Maybe he was going to do it again.

Markus smelled thirium, sharp and electric. He scanned the room, apprehensive. His optics settled on Simon's hands. A ring of blue blood circled Simon's pointer finger.

"Simon." Markus got up, alarmed. "You're bleeding."

Simon stirred to attention. He lifted his hand, inspecting it.

"Oh," he said distantly. "I was trimming the ivy. I must have cut myself."

Markus took Simon's hand. He rubbed his knuckles.

He parted his lips, tongue wrapping around his finger.

Androids' artificial saliva was an effective coagulant. Markus assumed the feature was implemented for humans. Prior to personhood, even low spec androids came installed with first aid measures.

The weight of Simon was solid on Markus' tongue. The warmth of him flooded Markus' internal diagnostics.

Simon's eyes were out of focus, his lips parted. Markus saw the pink of his tongue.

Markus felt his finger crook, stroking the inside of his mouth.

Markus never knew he had sensors in his mouth. They seared to life with innocuous flame. They flooded his command line with Simon's information. Simon's serial number stored itself in his database. Simon's release date wrote over Markus' cache. Markus shut his eyes, his lips hollowing. He ventilated on a shaky exhale.

Simon pulled away.

Markus' scanners crashed and restarted. His CPU cooled.

Simon was standing at the other end of the room. He cradled his hand to his chest. The blood had stopped.

Markus licked his lips. "There's epoxy under the bed."

Simon's blue eyes were ransacked, framed in the shock of pale lashes. His chest expanded with his internal fans.

Markus stooped under the bed. He fished out the clear tube. He stood up, reluctant.

"Simon," he said. "Could you deactivate your skin?"

Simon didn't seem to hear him.

"Simon?"

The skin on his hands drizzled away. The backs of his hands were clean and white. A ring of blue marred his index finger.

Markus approached Simon. He uncapped the tube.

Simon turned his hands over.

His sleek plasteel casing was eroded in patches across his palms. Thirium pooled blue in his exposed subdermal layer.

Markus remembered a children's book about a painting that left its canvas.

"The dealers break your hands first," Simon said shakily. "They're the softest part on an android. It's easier to get the blood out."

Simon took in a breath.

"I didn't know how you knew," he said. "It scared me when I first saw it. The painting. Now I know you didn't. But you knew how it felt. You felt the same way. Because you were being broken open, too."

Markus saw the scene with clarity. Simon was not going to kiss him again, not unless Markus did it first.

Markus dropped the tube. He took Simon's face in his hands. Simon's eyes shot off the floor, locking on Markus'. Bright blue, they quivered. Markus kissed his forehead. Simon couldn't feel it. Markus needed him to. Markus kissed his temple, his cheekbone. He trailed feverish kisses down the curve of his cheek. This, Markus realized, was what lips were for. This was why he had them. This was what he was supposed to be doing.

His kisses neared the corner of Simon's mouth. His chest spiked with foreign hunger.

Simon put his hands on Markus' shoulders. He pushed himself back.

Markus blinked fast, dispelling the haze.

Simon's eyes were wide. Not for the first time, Markus couldn't read them.

"I'm sorry," Markus said, panicking. "I just wanted you to feel it, too."

Simon looked at him slowly. "Feel what?"

Markus said, "Safe. Like you made me feel."

Simon stared at him, eyes still unknowable.

Markus didn't know what he had done wrong.

"Never kiss someone unless you mean it, Markus," Simon said quietly.

Markus wished feelings came with a manual. He wished he had a direct door to Simon's. He didn't know which ones were the good ones, and which ones he wasn't allowed to touch.

*

The WR600 rubbed his nails on his uniform. He blew cool air across his cuticles.

"If you want me to stab," he said, "I stab. I have fifty-three gardening tools from pre-deviancy days. You pick the one you like best."

Markus glimpsed him wearily in the car's rearview mirror. "That won't be necessary, Lucien."

Lucien tossed the steering wheel in both hands. "Maybe you prefer blunt force?"

"Right now," Markus said, "I prefer you get me to New Jericho on time."

At Josh's behest, Markus had hired bodyguards. Markus' ill fortune landed him Lucien, a stab-happy WR600. Simon's was saner, an AX400 with sugar-pink hair. She was sweet as could be, and went by "Bat," because no matter how she loved her former owner, a five-year-old boy, nobody took an android named "Batman" seriously.

The car squealed, skidding into the underground lot. Markus' forehead slammed into the passenger seat.

Lucien beamed at Markus in the mirror. "Ah," he said. "You are not dead."

Markus shook him off and boarded the elevator. He rode it up to the medical bay. North and Josh were waiting for him in the corridor.

"I don't trust Kamski," North said for the millionth time.

"He's not going to hurt Simon," Josh countered. "To begin with, why would he want to?"

"I don't know," North said acidly. "But why would he want to help? Ever think of that?"

Markus walked faster down the corridor. North and Josh's bickering was unbearable on good days. Without Simon as buffer, no one was capping their tempers.

Kamski stood waiting for them in the glass laboratory. Markus stepped inside.

Markus recoiled. Simon hung suspended from the repair crane. His clothes were gone, his entire skin deactivated. His body was a sad white slab. Scars like blue bubble wrap pricked and twisted at his stomach. On the inside of his right arm were exposed thirium lines. Markus no longer questioned his proclivity for layers.

North cursed loudly behind Markus. "Could you give him some dignity? Don't hang him up on a goddamn meat hook!"

"I assure you," Kamski drawled, "this is standard procedure. The crane stabilizes his servomotor. Or do you want him waking up and damaging himself and the equipment?"

Josh put his hands on North's shoulders. "Let's wait outside."

North started. "But--"

Josh squeezed her shoulders. "We'll be here when he comes out of it. That's all that matters, right?"

North tilted her head back. She nodded, looking lost.

They stepped out of the lab together. Markus made no move to follow.

Kamski cracked his knuckles. "He can't sense you, you know. It makes no difference if you're in the room."

"It makes a difference to me," Markus said.

Kamski shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yourself."

The procedure was as long as Kamski promised. He cracked open Simon's stomach, placing it in pieces on the table. This he did slowly, as if he didn't know which pieces he needed. Simon's insides glowed fluorescent blue. Kamski put his hand inside him and twisted something Markus couldn't see.

Markus stood rooted in one place.

Kamski circled the crane, adjusting it. He picked up a tool like a small buzzsaw. Markus flinched when it turned on. He brought it behind Simon's head, where Markus couldn't see it anymore.

Four hours in, Kamski showed no exhaustion. He licked sweat off his upper lip. Markus sent wireless messages to Simon's offline network.

 _I want you to see the ballet again_ , he sent. _I want you to see the happy ending._

"Help me."

Markus lifted his head. He looked at Kamski.

"What did you say?" he asked.

Kamski put his scraper down. He glanced at Markus. "I beg your pardon?"

Markus frowned. "I thought you said 'Help me' just now."

Kamski looked unamused. "If I needed help with this, I'd ask someone more capable."

Markus didn't have the energy for offense. "Who said it, then?"

Kamski wiped his hands with a thirium-soaked rag. "You are under a significant amount of stress. I'd suppose you imagined it."

Stressed as he was, Markus conceded. He shut his eyes for a twenty-minute stasis.

*

It was sixteen hours before Kamski lowered the crane. He wiped a smear of blue blood from his glasses. His eyes were lined in deep bags.

"One brand new somatosensory system," he announced. "All done."

Kamski had stopped only twice to use the restroom. Markus hadn't seen him drink anything. Markus wondered just how much of him was android now.

Markus looked at Simon's skinless body. "Why isn't he waking up?"

Kamski replaced his glasses. "He's installing the updates. Remember, the PL600 mainframe is significantly outdated. I'd give him until morning."

It was midnight. Markus felt wide awake.

Kamski helped move Simon to the recovery bay. They laid him on the thin bed beside the dark window. Simon's skin and hair filled out in waves. North and Josh returned, North carrying a tin foil balloon.

"IT'S A BOY," the balloon read.

Markus looked at her questioningly.

"Lay off," North said. "They didn't have 'Get Well Soon.'"

Kamski excused himself, presumably to sleep. North, Josh, and Markus sat around on the visitors' chairs.

"You'd better run a deep scan on him when he wakes up," North warned. "I don't trust Kamski not to have installed some bloatware."

Josh groaned loudly. He pulled his feet up on his chair.

It was three in the morning before North and Josh nodded off. Markus' processors were lagging. Stasis became an alluring prospect. The sight of Simon kept him awake. Simon looked vulnerable naked. His dermal layer covered his scars. Markus would never have guessed the damage he'd endured.

On his left hand was the little yellow ring. Markus' eyes burned. Simon never took it off.

Kamski had said to give Simon until morning. Simon surprised Markus by stirring at four.

Markus saw the change happen. Simon sat up slowly. He laid his hands flat on the bed. His shoulders stiffened, the moment of awareness. He patted the mattress fast. He brought his hands to his face. He learned it anew, or maybe for the first time. He tested the give of his cheeks.

"Simon?" Markus whispered.

Simon looked at him. Benevolent waves of light spread across his face in a smile.

"Good morning, silly boy," he said.

*

Markus had thought that Simon might cry. Maybe he would laugh, or maybe both.

Simon said, "Do you have my clothes?"

His imperturbable calm extended to his own tactile condition.

Markus gave him a fuzzy yellow sweater from his personal collection. Simon pulled it over his head. He pulled his arms through the sleeves. He looked mildly at the balloon tied to the bedpost.

"I don't get it, either," Markus said.

Simon glanced at North in her chair. Deep in stasis, her head lolled on her shoulder. Simon smiled like she was wonderful.

Markus never thought he would be in a position to envy North.

"Did it work?" Markus asked. "You can feel everything properly?"

Simon nodded.

"How do you know for sure?" Markus asked.

"Right now," Simon said, "I think I'm cold."

Simon's legs lay bare. One was bent at the knee. Markus noted that they were long and smooth. Markus' stomach coiled with the need to touch, the incessant want.

Simon hadn't reached for Markus once.

Markus took his coat off. He laid it over Simon's legs.

Simon huffed softly. "Tickles."

"Sorry," Markus said. "That's all I've got right now."

Simon gazed at him knowingly. "You look tired."

On cue, Markus rubbed his eyes.

Simon shifted, making room on the bed. "Here."

One month later, it had become a routine. Markus clambered on the bed. Simon spread Markus' coat out, covering Markus.

Markus lay down. He pressed up against Simon. He felt Simon stiffen, then relax.

"I knew you," Markus said, shutting his eyes. "I knew you before I met you. You can't deny that."

Simon said, "You're very tired. Get some rest."

Markus burrowed into Simon's side. He laid his cheek on Simon's chest.

He closed his programs. He felt fingertips graze his scalp.

Simon said, "It's softer than I thought."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case I didn't make it clear in chapter 3, the painting Markus made in this route was [Android: Sadness](https://i.imgur.com/3XTH3BJ.png).


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon gets used to feeling things. Markus and Simon choose a reception venue. Simon learns how to dance. Markus comes into an unusual inheritance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The possibility of a character having committed suicide is discussed and may be triggering to read. The character in question is not Simon, Markus, or a friend of theirs. Please tread cautiously. Love you all, and stay safe.
> 
> This is going to be my last update for at least a week, bc my editor finally decided to come back from the dead, which means I have to go back to working on real stuff now...and that's not as fun. Then again, is anything in this world as fun as robots? I think not.

In the days following his procedure, Simon touched everything.

Markus saw it in the mornings, when Simon came out of stasis. He smoothed his hands across the bed sheets. He smiled at the sensation, the novelty still fresh.

He touched the flowers in their room like they were sacred. His fingers were tremulous on the fragile petals. He touched the soil, testing for dryness. If it was wet, he made a soft sound, pitched deep in the back of his throat. It was always that sound that made Markus feel weak. He would have done anything to perpetuate it. He would have become the soil itself.

Simon touched the clothes he wore, learning their textures. Cashmere and silk appeared to be his favorites. He didn't like seersucker, or at least he wouldn't wear it anymore. He gave his two seersucker shirts to Markus. Markus didn't have the nerve to wear them. At night, when Simon slept, he fished them out of the closet, pressing them to his face. He imagined his face against Simon's neck. He wondered what sound Simon might make. He imagined his fingers on Simon's back, skittering over the fake bumps of his spine. He imagined the kiss he had wanted from Simon, the one tucked away at the corner of his mouth.

Simon touched the breakfast plates in the kitchen. He marveled over the smoothness of the china. The first time he touched the stove, still hot, he recoiled. He cradled his fingers, laughing through the shock. His self-repair module worked at temperatures up to 1800 degrees. He touched the stove again, just to feel it. He held ice in the palm of his hand. Markus watched it melt against his warm skin. Markus wanted to be the ice. Markus wanted to be the water swimming in his palmlines. Markus wanted so much, he didn't have a name for half the things he craved.

Simon touched Carl's shoulders by way of greeting. He gripped them warmly, and Carl laughed. Simon told Markus he was surprised how bony they were. He picked up the chess pieces on the table. He smoothed the marble playing pieces between his hands. He touched the window to feel it baking in the summer sun. He ran the sink in the kitchen longer than necessary. He let the water run over his hands in a soothing cascade.

Simon touched North's hair when they met in New Jericho. He collected it in gentle bundles. He combed his fingers through it. He touched the twitch in Josh's cheek when a particular problem stymied him. He rubbed the scruff on Leo's face, laughed, and suggested a shave.

Simon had time to touch everyone and everything. He reveled in his newfound power. He used it to shower his friends in affection, to learn their nuances, to differentiate between them by sensation alone.

But he never touched Markus.

*

"Holy shit," Leo said. "Holy _shit._ "

"What is it?" asked Markus.

Markus was at the chess table with Alastair, a less than enthusiastic opponent. Leo was on the sofa, watching the news.

"TV up," Leo said.

The volume on the TV rose.

"...no evidence of foul play. First responders are calling it a self-inflicted gunshot wound."

Markus stood from the chess table, sitting next to Leo. He squinted at the television.

Elijah Kamski's face was splashed all over the holo screen.

"He's dead," Leo said, white as a sheet. "We just saw that guy, like, three days ago. I can't believe he's dead."

There had to be a mistake, Markus thought. His processors raced to keep up with the anchorwoman.

"Elijah Kamski, thirty-seven, was named Fortune 500's Most Influential Man six years in a row. Details are forthcoming pending the coroner's report."

The finality rang in Markus' ears. Markus couldn't believe a word.

Leo gripped Markus' arm, shaken. "You think he was killed?"

"I--he had to be. He wouldn't have killed himself. Why would he have killed himself?"

Silence settled between the two. Markus thought back to Simon's operation. In the room, just the two of them, hadn't Kamski said--

Carl wheeled into the drawing room, grave-faced. Carl and Kamski were old acquaintances. Markus had rather forgotten.

"Dad," Markus said weakly. "Do you really think--?"

"I don't know," Carl said. "I don't know what to think."

At least that made two of them, Markus thought.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Markus had wanted to thank Kamski in depth. Now Kamski was gone, and Markus would never be able to say it. No one would talk to him again.

It wasn't fair.

*

"No way did that guy off himself," said Brendan, the YK500.

Markus liked to take his lunch in New Jericho's nursery. What once was an employee's cafeteria had been remodeled for the children. Handmade banners hung from the walls. One wall bore a mural of the latest superheroes. Markus was partial to Detective Duck and Inspector Dog.

Brendan knelt on the cafeteria bench. He attacked his thirium pop with gusto.

"You shouldn't be thinking about that," Markus said. "Where did you even hear about that?"

Brendan threw him a sour look. "I listen when grownups talk," he said. "Butthat."

"Let's not talk about that," Markus said. "Let's talk about something else."

"Suzuki says that guy's unhinged," said Brendan. "He said nars--narsa--those people who love themselves--they wouldn't hurt themselves. He thinks it was a murder."

Markus frowned. "Who's Suzuki? I thought your imaginary friend was called Bonejangles."

"Anyway," said Brendan, "are you gonna finish your pop? Can I have it?"

Markus guarded his thirium pop with both hands. "Get your own."

The littlest YK500 sat down at their table. Her curly hair brushed her shoulders in pigtails. She tugged on Markus' arm.

"When are Mommy and Daddy coming back?" she asked.

Markus' chest tightened. "I don't know, Jess."

The answer was probably never. Humans discarding their YK500 children wasn't unheard of. The habit had increased exponentially after the revolution. The appeal of android children lay with their sweetness, their agreeability. Now these children had thoughts of their own. Some of them dreamed of the day they grew up. Some of them questioned why they didn't. Nobody wanted what amounted to a human child with an android's limitations.

Jess tugged on Markus' sleeve.

"I want a picture book," she said.

"Haven't you got a picture book?" Markus asked. "With a mermaid in it?"

Jess peeped at Markus shyly. "None of the picture books have androids in them."

"Okay," Markus said. "I'll make you one."

It served a worthy distraction from all Simon-related quandaries.

*

Markus went home that night, driven by his stab-happy bodyguard. On the sidewalk, he took in the ambience of Carl's neighborhood. Summer had brought out the Japanese privets. The delicious white buds clung to every shrub, oozing with perfumed sweetness. He found a cicada lying on the ground on its back. He picked it up, and it spread its papery wings, flying to safety.

He closed his eyes. He reveled in the hot breeze. A neighbor had hung windchimes outside their door, the tin butterflies clacking musically. Violet sunset pierced his eyelids.

He heard the front door open. He looked up to see Simon.

Simon's shirt was lightweight, pink. Susceptible to the temperature now, he had temporarily foregone heavier wear. Markus yearned to touch him, to make a single machine of two units. His singular existence was not enough.

"I heard about Kamski," Simon said quietly.

Simon stepped out on the walkway. He touched one of the flowering white privets. Markus crossed the space to him to look at the same one.

"Do you really think he killed himself?" Markus asked.

Simon looked at him. "No. And if you'll come inside with me, our guest doesn't, either."

Markus followed Simon in the house, curious to see who had visited. Simon led him in the kitchen, where tea boiled on the stove.

The RT600 stood ill at ease. Her eyes darted everywhere, taking everything in.

Markus pulled out a chair for her. "Miss Chloe?"

Chloe put her hands on the back of the chair. She elected not to sit.

"It's my fault," she said quietly. "It's my fault he's gone."

*

Chloe wouldn't sit until she saw Markus and Simon doing the same. She folded her hands primly on her lap, her head down.

"I'm sure it's not your fault," Simon began.

Chloe said, "He was such a troubled boy. Always, from the beginning."

She looked up at them, winter eyes watery. She blinked fast.

"Ilya Kamsky," Chloe said. "That was his name before they changed it. He was born in Yakutsk, Russia. An American couple adopted him from an orphanage when he was a baby. He started showing behavioral problems when he was six. They relinquished him to foster care when he was seven."

It was funny how angry Markus felt. He hadn't even known Kamski, not really.

Simon closed his eyes. "Poor boy," he said quietly.

"Chloe," Markus said. "Why would someone want to kill him? Can you think of any reason?"

Chloe's eyes were lovely and soft, so very sad. "I can think of few reasons they wouldn't," she said. "In a roundabout way, he's responsible for all this."

"This?" Markus asked.

"You," she said. "Everyone. A whole new intelligent race."

There was a vagueness about her, a way of addressing everything and nothing.

"Chloe," Markus said suddenly. "You shared a tertiary neural network with him. Wouldn't you have seen who killed him?"

Chloe looked up, biting her lip. "I was in stasis, installing updates. I didn't see a thing."

Simon said, "Maybe you should talk to Connor. He works with the police."

Chloe tilted her head. "Connor? I remember him. He put a gun to my head once."

She said, "Very nice boy."

Markus wondered how that checked out.

Markus said, "You can stay here for a while. And then you can come back to New Jericho with us. Maybe whoever killed Kamski doesn't want to stop at him."

Chloe put her head down. Her forehead puckered.

"All he wanted was a mother," she whispered. "Someone to approve of everything he did. Someone whose thoughts he never had to second-guess."

Chloe said, "It's all my fault. I didn't save him."

*

"This is very bad timing," Simon began. "But the mayor wants us at Grand Circus Park tomorrow for the dedication of that monument."

Gardening at night was Simon's new idiosyncrasy. Markus watched him trim the privets in Carl's backyard. Markus sat on the bench, legs crossed ankle to knee.

"I remember," Markus said.

Simon snipped the flowers at the stem. He collected the excess in a basket. Carl always complained of their overgrowth.

"Simon?"

Markus saw Simon's hands slow down. Markus heard the soft swipe of the shears.

Markus shifted, his hands on the bench.

"What did I do wrong?" he asked quietly.

Simon lowered the shears. He wiped his face with the back of his arm.

He turned around.

Simon looked ethereal in summer moonlight. His hair was whited out. His eyes provided little color in the garden.

He laid his shears on the soil bed. His fingers flexed around nothing.

"Nothing," Simon said. "You did nothing wrong."

Markus' pump constricted in his chest. "Why won't you touch me?"

Simon wiped dirt from his hands. "Why do you want me to touch you?"

Markus observed him: calves to thighs, hips to waist, chest to shoulders. He ached.

"I don't know," Markus said.

He said, "I feel better when you do. I don't feel like I'm only me."

Simon tilted his head. "Only you?"

Markus tightened his hands on his knees.

"I don't like it," he said. "I don't like being alone in this body."

Simon maneuvered around the rosebushes. He came to the bench, sitting beside Markus. The distance between them was interminable, detestable.

"You're never alone, Markus," Simon said.

Markus' eyes burned. He rubbed them stubbornly.

"Look up," Simon said.

Markus raised his head.

The Milky Way hung over their heads, a shivering shotgun blast of stars. The seam in the galaxy betrayed its size.

"If we're here," Simon said, "and that's there, imagine how much else is underneath it."

Markus mapped out constellations. He saw the Orion nebula, a green and purple smudge.

Somebody had built him. He was not natural, but he participated in the natural world.

The person who had built him was gone.

"You're a lot, Markus."

Markus wasn't expecting Simon to speak. He looked sideways at him.

Simon's hands were folded on his knees. He leaned forward. His back was a graceful slope.

"I told you," Simon said. "That I never got to take care of children?"

Markus nodded.

"You confused me," Simon said. "When you came to Jericho, you were so innocent. You kept bumbling into the worst situations. Remember when we stole biocomponents from CyberLife? You got scared, and a dog attacked you."

Markus' face burned. "That was--"

"And Stratford Tower. You lost your nerve. North had to incapacitate the guards for you."

Markus said, "Are you going to remind me of all the ways I messed up?"

Simon shook his head. "You didn't mess up. Not to me."

Markus waited. He didn't understand where this was going.

"It was my programming," Simon said. "Or I think it was. We may buck it by going deviant, but it never really goes away. I saw you, and all those programs I never got to use came flooding open. I was desperate to use them. You weren't a child--not really--but there was something of a child in you. You were a very sweet boy. You were somebody who needed protecting. I thought: That could finally be me."

Markus rubbed the side of his nose. Simon leaned back on his hands. He smiled at the sky as if it were a curiosity.

"But you're nothing like I thought," Simon said. "Are you, Markus?"

"I'm not?"

"No. Well. Yes, and no."

Markus waited. Simon put his head down.

"You're too much," he said. "You're all those things I thought, and everything I didn't think. You're all the things I thought you couldn't be. You're all of it at once. People aren't supposed to be able to do that. What am I supposed to do with that?"

He looked at Markus. "What am I supposed to do with you?"

"Anything," Markus said desperately. "Anything you want."

Simon laced his fingers on his knees.

"That's why I won't touch you," Simon said. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be unfair. But you're so much. You're too much. It was quite a different matter when I couldn't feel you. Now that I can..."

Simon laughed.

"Now that I can," Simon said, "I realize I'm not very strong. Sometimes I even think I may break."

*

Simon's refusal to touch Markus didn't keep Markus from wanting.

Markus wanted it at Grand Circus Park, when they stood with the mayor for press photos. The mayor unveiled the ugly new edifice, a statue of a human holding hands with a skinless android. Historical revisionism had already begun.

Markus wanted it when they sat through a mind-numbing interview with Ciara Choi, an evening news anchor. Ciara asked them about android rights, how far they thought they had to go. Markus smiled when he didn't want to. He thanked her for her insincere platitudes. He glimpsed Simon sideways, innocuous in his pug sweater. Markus wanted to pull it off of him. He wanted to touch what lay underneath.

He wanted so badly to be touched by Simon. Then, on a Saturday, it came to a head.

"What do you think of this place? Elegant, isn't it?"

The wedding planner guided Simon and Markus through reception venues. Their third stop was the Waterview Loft at Port Detroit. The spacious glass palace overlooked the historic Riverwalk, the Canadian skyline.

"It's...big," Markus said inadequately.

He looked out the window at the aerial view.

Linda smiled, clutching her tablet. "Normally you have to reserve months in advance. But I think they'd make an exception for the two of you."

Markus looked at Simon. "What do you think?"

Simon ran his thumb over his knuckles.

"Simon?"

"What? Sorry." He drew to attention. "It's fine if you like it."

Markus frowned. He looked at Linda. "No good, I think."

She called it a day, promising they'd try again Monday. She left the loft ahead of them. Simon didn't move.

"Simon?"

He put his hands down. He looked around, lost. Markus wanted to grasp his shoulder. He refrained out of respect.

"Kamski is dead," Simon said distantly. "Fixing me might have been the last thing he did. I don't know how to feel."

Simon said, "I'm tired of people dying."

Markus' hands itched at his sides. "They'll find whoever did it. I bet they've even got Connor looking into it."

Simon smiled morosely. "Funny that law enforcement is more punitive than preventative."

Markus couldn't argue with that.

"Simon," he said. "I just had a thought. Will you come with me?"

They left the loft and went outside. Bat was waiting for them by a plain black car. Her pink hair made Markus' eyes water.

They drove to Royal Oak, a suburb outside Detroit. Bat parked the car outside a greenhouse. Markus climbed out first. Simon followed, looking confused.

"Carl had a gala here," Markus explained. "Nine months ago, I think. It reminds me of you."

A worker unlocked the door for them. They went inside. A rock bridge led across a manmade pond. Fat oranges hung low on the leafy, stooped trees.

Simon held still when a cloud of butterflies flew past. He followed them with his optics.

"It's a butterfly conservatory," Markus said. "Sometimes they hold dinners here. I thought, if we're having a reception, maybe we could do it here."

Simon crouched by a mossy rock. He held his hand out. Markus couldn't see what he was doing, until he drew closer. A butterfly rested on Simon's knuckles, white with blue wing tips. The skin was gone from Simon's hand. Simon held reverently still. Holding still might have been his most important task. The organic reposed on the inorganic. A living being loved another living being.

"He's so small," Simon said.

Markus' background processes slowed to a halt.

The butterfly took off. Simon stood up, wiping his hands on his pants.

"I don't know what to do at a reception," Simon said. "I know we'll need refreshments, for the humans."

"And entertainment," Markus said. "We'll probably have to find a singer. Maybe a band."

"What for?" Simon asked.

"Well," Markus said, suppressing a smile. "For dancing. People can't dance if there's no music."

Simon put his hand to his mouth.

"What?" Markus asked.

"Dancing...I didn't know." Simon lowered his hand. "Markus!"

"What is it?" Suppressing his smile became impossible.

Simon twisted his fingers together. "I can't dance."

"You _can't_?" Markus asked, feigning shock. He drew closer.

Simon rubbed his elbow. "It's not one of my protocols...and I didn't exactly have the occasion to learn in Jericho."

"You're in luck," said Markus, smiling fully now. "I can teach you. Ballroom dancing was one of the programs Carl made me install."

Simon peeked skittishly at Markus. "I don't know."

"Simon, you can't not dance at a wedding," Markus reasoned. "Especially your wedding."

Simon searched the greenhouse for an out. "What if we passed off another PL600 as me?"

Markus burst out laughing.

Simon stared grimly. "That was serious."

"I know," Markus said. "That's what makes it funny."

Markus offered his hand. Simon took half a step back.

"Simon," Markus said. "You're going to have to touch me sooner or later."

Simon opened his mouth. He closed it.

He slipped his hand in Markus'. Markus' sensors sang out in relief. The slide of warm skin on skin was a memory now, an old friend. Simon's fingers trembled. Markus wrapped his fingers around them. Simon could feel him now. Simon was with him in a way he had never been before.

Markus took Simon's free hand. He placed it on his shoulder. Markus felt it tense on reflex. He placed his hand on Simon's waist.

"Okay?" Markus said. "Just do what I do."

Markus swayed. Simon, like a rock, refused to move. Markus nudged his waist. Simon stirred, but lagged behind. He stepped on Markus' foot.

"I don't mind if you do that," Markus said mildly. "But you're not supposed to. Just to let you know."

Simon took a deep breath. He looked up, directly at Markus.

Markus was stunned by how defenseless he looked. His eyes were unblinking, his mouth a thin line. His hand went lax in Markus'. It slipped out of Markus' grasp. Markus caught it, placing it on his shoulder. Simon tightened his dual grip. Markus wrapped his hands around Simon's waist. His thumbs stroked Simon through his shirt. He felt it when Simon shuddered.

Humans had a word for this. Precious, Markus thought. Simon took his lip between his teeth, his eyes darting askance. He swayed artlessly on his awkward duck feet. Beautifully pliant, he went wherever Markus guided. Simon had always been that way, and to his own deficit. Markus thought of Simon limping back to Jericho in a bloody coat.

Markus' fingers tightened on Simon's waist. Simon jumped in his hands.

Markus' thumbs dipped under Simon's shirt. They glided across smooth skin.

Simon's entire body trembled. His feet stopped moving.

It might have been the newness. Markus could only imagine the swaths of data Simon was processing.

Simon hadn't trembled for Josh or Leo. If he had, Markus hadn't seen it.

Simon's fingers curled at Markus' neck. Markus felt the pads brushing over his wiry hair. Markus heard Simon's breath, a shaky exhale.

Markus' fingers slid against the small of Simon's back. Simon's eyes fluttered shut.

Markus pressed his mouth to Simon's ear. "What does it feel like?"

Simon's body was as taut as a piano wire. "I can't..."

"Don't send me away," Markus said quietly. "I don't want to go away."

His lips trailed the hinge of Simon's jaw. Markus was surprised by the cathartic heat of it. Simon released a sound like static, pure machine.

Simon braced his hands on Markus' chest. Markus didn't know that they could go there.

He thought Simon might push him away again. He readied his defenses, prepared to beg.

The skin melted away from Simon's back. Markus felt it fading underneath his hands. It receded from the hinge of his pretty jaw. Markus' lips met sleek plasteel.

Markus retracted the skin on his hands.

He dove in.

It was overload. It was too many packets being sent to the same host protocol. It was data written in a programming language foreign to Markus' OS. It was every possible sensation at a single pinpoint, spread across the entirety of the closed system. Markus felt comfort and relief and cool balm on top of fire and electric and error codes. His circuits burst open like a balloon under pressure. The gist of them flowed to all nodal points. Everything became him by proxy. The worn rock bridge shared in his abrasion. The still water trembled in relief. The greenhouse captured his delirium in hot waves.

Markus-as-Simon felt Markus' hands on his back, the broad spread, the firm warmth. They radiated inexorable pleasure to the breaking point. Markus-as-Simon thought: _I have to get away._ Markus-as-Simon thought: _I could never. I don't know why._ He was too old for this, his entire catalogue of lived experience rendered useless by this _boy_ , this unapologetic whirlwind who felt everything and understood nothing and dared to tout his ignorance as some kinder, better state of being.

Simon thought: Maybe it was.

Simon pulled back. Or Markus did. Markus didn't know.

Markus' hand lingered, Simon's skinless back beneath it.

Older android models came equipped with false color optics. The breakthrough in true color vision hadn't come until the fourth generation line of domestics.

Markus saw colors the way they were. If a tree was green, it was green. Colors outside the visible spectrum were gray or nonexistent.

Simon's outdated eyes saw colors in overdrive. The mossy walkway was the green of diffuse nebulae. The hanging oranges were lurid protosuns. The bubble-glass ceiling shone silver like nitrogen. A storm of butterflies flew past, blue and purple with the radio song of Cosmic Microwave Background.

Markus let go. The world came back to him in true color. False color remnants lagged in his right eye.

Markus never knew the world was such a vibrant place. It seemed to him deliberate, even kind. Maybe Simon couldn't help being kind, inhabiting a world like that.

Simon pitched forward, taking Markus by surprise. Markus caught him with both arms. Simon's dermal layer was searing hot.

Markus checked him over, worried, then incredulous. Simon's eyes were closed. His body was slack with the tell-tale signs of soft reboot. Simon had overheated.

*

"That does not belong there," Alastair said.

Markus groaned. "I'll move him in a second. Just give him some time to cool down."

Alastair grimaced. "It's been forty-two minutes. With all due respect--"

"Don't you have a paella to cook or something?"

Alastair's eyes bugged out of his head. Markus realized a gaze could serve as a murder weapon.

Simon stirred slowly on the sofa. His eyebrows twitched.

"There," Markus said. "See? He's fine. You can stop hovering."

"I do not--"

"The paella's burning," Markus said.

Alastair sprinted into the kitchen.

Simon put his hands on the cushion. He sat up. He looked around, disoriented.

"Hi," Markus said.

Markus sat at the other end of the sofa, knees drawn to his chest. He smiled.

Simon's forehead creased. "I think I lost an hour of data."

Markus extended a hand. "Want it back?"

Simon reached unthinkingly. He drew his hand back.

Markus laughed. "Oh, come on."

Simon shook his head. "I don't want to overheat again."

Markus had a thought. He straightened out his legs. He gently seized Simon's, pulling them across his lap. Simon looked scared, but didn't dissent.

Markus rolled Simon's pants legs up a margin. "Have you ever heard of exposure therapy?"

Simon shook his head. He watched Markus warily.

Markus ran his thumbs against bare skin. He slipped them under the elastic of Simon's socks.

"It's one of my caregiver modules," Markus explained. "It's for patients with anxiety disorders."

Markus went on, "People with PTSD become hyper-avoidant of their triggers. They lock their memories and emotions away. But we know that's a bad thing. When you finally can't avoid them anymore, they blow up. Humans aren't meant to feel years of emotions in an instant."

"Markus...I don't have PTSD. I'm not even sure what that is."

"I know," Markus said. "But this'll still work."

Markus stroked Simon's ankles with his thumbs. Simon gave in to a full-body shudder.

Markus marveled over the smooth skin, the nearness of him. He stroked him in circles.

He said, "In exposure therapy, you subject yourself to the unpleasant thing. That way, when the flashbacks happen, they don't feel so bad."

Simon put his hands on his knees. "You're not an unpleasant thing, Markus."

Markus hid a victorious smile. "That's good. But it's going to look weird if I can't touch you in public."

Simon pushed the hair off his forehead. His eyes were unwavering, unreadable. Markus wondered what he looked like in Simon's eyes. His small glimpse into Simon's mind left more questions than answers.

Leo barged into the drawing room. He was carrying an unreasonably large bowl of popcorn.

"Hey, do me a favor," Leo said. "Make room, will you? Jacob's Ladder's coming on."

He crammed himself between Markus and the arm rest. Simon's legs wound up crushed against his chest. Markus looked at Leo, affronted.

"What?" said Leo, oblivious. "I'm not interrupting anything. You have a bedroom. Why can't you go feel each other up in there?"

Markus looked at Simon. "Do you want to watch the movie? It's a horror classic."

Simon hesitated. "I don't know. I've never watched a movie."

"You're going to love it," Leo promised. "Elizabeth Peña's in it. I mean, she might not do anything for you guys, but trust me, a hotter woman has never lived."

A notification popped up on Markus' HUD. _Visitor at the door_ , it read.

Markus stood up. "I'll answer the door. Let me know if I miss anything good."

Markus crossed the foyer, thinking about recent events. Caught up in the week's chaos, he forgot to look through the security camera.

He opened the door with a touch. He recoiled on instinct.

Special Agent Perkins tucked his hands behind his back. He nodded hello.

Markus moved to swing the door shut in his face.

"A moment," Perkins said, raising his hand. "Just a moment."

Markus narrowed his eyes. "Unless you have a warrant, you can leave."

"I think you'll want to hear this," Perkins said. "It's about your dear old dad."

"Carl?" Markus asked, suspicious. "What about him?"

Perkins rolled a kink out of his shoulder. "I meant the other one. But I suppose Kamski was more of your god than your father."

Markus did not think himself capable of hate. If he had been, this man would have topped the list. Markus still saw him there on the snowy battlefield, the army battalion behind him. Markus never wanted a war.

Perkins raised his eyebrows. "Not going to invite me in?"

"No," Markus said flatly.

Perkins shrugged. "Can't say I'm surprised. You weren't interested in talking to me back then, either."

"You wouldn't have had anything good to say."

"No?" asked Perkins. "You don't know what I might have said. I might have offered you a deal. We could have cut through all the bureaucratic minutiae."

Perkins' head canted. "Congratulations on your engagement."

The thought of Simon grounded Markus. Markus wanted to go back to Simon's world, the kind one, the vibrant one.

Markus thought: Simon wouldn't hate Perkins. Simon would see him as a composite. A man was not a snapshot of his worst moments. He woke up in the mornings, went to work, maybe saw his child off to school.

Markus thought: Perkins didn't hate Markus. Perkins was a man performing a job. If his affect lent him aptitude to that job, all the better for him.

Markus pulled the door open.

"You can come in," he said. "But keep it down. My brother's watching Jacob's Ladder."

*

Perkins looked out of place at the kitchen table. Alastair whisked the skillets off the stove and fled. Carl, who had been keeping him company, smiled impassively.

"Staying for dinner?" Carl asked.

Markus was pleased when Perkins looked uncomfortable.

Carl retreated, giving them privacy. Perkins tugged on his necktie.

"When's the last time you saw Elijah Kamski?" Perkins asked.

Markus cast his memory back. "June 9th. We were discussing plans for the medical bay."

Perkins spread his fingers out on the table. "I understand he performed some kind of pro bono procedure for your fiance on the 2nd."

Markus thought: It wasn't pro bono. Not if the price was his memories. But that meant Perkins didn't know the price.

Markus started. "Why are you bringing Simon into this?"

"Why wouldn't I bring Simon into this?" Perkins asked. "That's a point of interest."

"No, it's not," Markus insisted. "Unless you think Simon thanked Kamski by killing him."

Markus realized. "You're investigating this. That means you think it was a murder."

Perkins' face betrayed no emotion. "I never said anything about an investigation. I never even told you why I'm here."

Markus felt tired. "Then why are you here?" Markus didn't add: _When can you leave?_

Perkins gestured at the air. "You don't meet many Elijah Kamskis in one lifetime. The FBI kept an open record on him, as a matter of policy."

Markus frowned. "That sounds incredibly unconstitutional."

Perkins smiled without his eyes. "Let's leave the legal debates to someone more erudite."

Perkins might not have hated Markus, but he wasn't going out of his way to like him.

"When something of this nature occurs," Perkins said, "the FBI takes special interest in it. Especially if it happens under unusual circumstances."

"Suicide is always unusual," Markus argued. "And he didn't kill himself. He just didn't."

Perkins folded his hands on the table. "You sound sure of that."

"If you had met him," Markus said, "you'd be sure of it, too."

Silence ticked on between the two.

Perkins said, "Kamski left you his entire estate."

Markus was sure that couldn't be. "I'm sorry?"

"All of it's yours," Perkins said. "His house, his liquid assets, his investments. Congratulations. You're the sole inheritor."

Markus was certain Perkins was mistaken. "He wouldn't do that. We barely knew each other."

"No?" Perkins said. "You're the last model he built by hand. That's incredibly personal."

"I barely remember those days," Markus said. "And it's all wrong. Why wouldn't he have left his belongings to--"

He thought of Chloe, hiding upstairs in a guest bedroom. He held his tongue.

Perkins followed anyway. "Very unusual he didn't bequeath anything to the RT600. Why is that, you think?"

Markus bit inside his mouth. "You'd have to ask Kamski."

"You see my dilemma, then," said Perkins.

Markus didn't know what to say. Markus didn't know what to think.

Perkins stood up. He pushed his chair in. "I'll forward you the electronics in the coming days."

Markus watched him warily. "You don't want to question us? Or anyone, for that matter?"

Perkins looked down at him. "Why would I? It's a suicide. It's an open and shut case."

Something was horribly wrong. Markus couldn't make the pieces line up.

Perkins saw himself out the door. Markus made no move to follow. He tracked him through his link to the security system.

All Markus could think of was talking to Simon.

*

At night, in their bedroom, he told him everything.

Simon was quiet on the edge of the bed. He listened without interrupting. When Markus was finished, Simon turned to face him. The lamp light painted yellow patches on their bed sheets.

"Don't go to Kamski's house," Simon said. "It sounds like a trap."

"A trap? How do you mean?"

Simon pulled his legs up. "I don't know. I'm not really sure what's going on. But I agree with you: He wouldn't have left you everything and ignored Chloe."

Markus leaned back against the headboard. "What am I supposed to do? I can't just ignore his will, can I?"

Simon played with the edge of the blanket. "Maybe you should ask Connor what he thinks."

"Connor?" Markus asked, uncertain.

Simon nodded. "He's our only police liaison at the moment. I'd like to help you, Markus, but this is a little above my head."

He looked at Markus. "Promise me you won't go to Kamski's house? Not without me."

Simon's eyes were a soothing counterpoint to the darkness of the bedroom. Markus never told Simon the cost of his surgery. He hadn't withheld it on purpose. There never seemed to be a right time.

Ten days stretched between Simon's procedure and Kamski's death. What had Kamski done with Markus' memories in that time?

"Markus?"

Markus tamped his guilt. There was going to be a right time. The important thing now was to keep Simon from worrying.

"I promise," Markus said.

The rest would follow. It would have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesse Williams (Markus' actor) starred in a 2019 remake of Jacob's Ladder. Which we are pretending did not happen, because Jacob's Ladder was the last movie that needed a remake. :(


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus and Simon investigate Kamski's house. Markus introduces Simon to the YK500s. Leo tries to throw Markus a bachelor party. Markus and Simon practice exposure therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Like an idiot, I somehow deleted the first two chapters of this fic! No idea how! I recovered the second chapter, rewrote the first, and merged them into one, which is why the chapter count went down. But I feel bad that a lot of back-and-forth got lost in the fray. I promise I didn't delete your nice comments on purpose. It means a lot to me that you took time out of your day. I'm so sorry. I'm just really bad with computers, as anyone who knows me can attest.
> 
> Anyway, have a lengthy chapter to make up for the idiocy. I was going to wait until Wednesday to edit it, but I felt bad, so I went ahead and edited it now.
> 
> My roommate is such a bitch, plz make her stop laughing at me

Connor spun around in his swivel chair. He pursed his lips, deep in thought.

"I don't know," he began. "I'm not sure there's much I can do."

"Connor," Markus urged. "You can't really think Elijah Kamski killed himself."

Connor touched the surface of his desk. His police terminal flashed with data. It went too fast for Markus to make it out.

"No," Connor said. "I don't think that."

Markus said, "Then why aren't you looking into it?"

Connor folded his hands on his lap. "The FBI assumed jurisdiction. If I stepped in after the fact, I'd be breaking the law."

Markus shifted where he stood. "We were technically breaking the law when you freed the androids at CyberLife Tower, half a year ago. Remember? You didn't care then."

Connor's LED flashed yellow. Markus sensed he was fighting a losing battle.

Simon unfolded his arms. "It's different now," he surmised quietly. "Now that the law says Connor's a person, he has more to lose. His livelihood, for starters."

Connor looked at him with surprise. "Yes."

Markus wasn't surprised at all. Of course Simon saw the heart of the matter. Empathy was his uncanny ability.

Markus said, "Just answer me this, Connor. Why do you think Kamski left his estate to me?"

At length, Connor shook his head. "I couldn't begin to guess."

"But if it were you," Markus said. "What would you do?"

Connor's LED flickered, yellow, then blue.

Connor said, "I'd search his house for clues. Some kind of insight as to why he might behave aberrantly."

"And did you search it?" Markus asked. "Before the FBI took over?"

Connor said, "We only had time to remove the body. The FBI moved in very fast."

Markus looked at Simon. Simon's eyes were out of focus, his expression faraway. Markus sent him a wireless request. Simon caught his eye, accepting it.

Markus said, _I want to go to Kamski's house._

 _Markus, no_ _,_ Simon said. _We have no idea if it's safe._

Markus refused to be swayed.

 _I_ _think he knew someone was going to kill him_ , Markus said. _I think he wanted my help. That's got to be why he left me the house._

 _Then why wouldn't he have said that outright?_ Simon pointed out.

Connor tilted his head. "Are the two of you talking without me? I don't mind, but perhaps I should get back to work."

Simon grabbed Markus' arm. "We'll be going now. We're sorry."

They walked out of the bullpen, Simon leading the way. Markus' thoughts were a frenzied racetrack.

On the sidewalk, Simon let go of Markus' arm.

"In what way do you think it's a trap?" Markus asked.

Simon took a moment to respond. "Do you trust Richard Perkins?"

Markus needed no deliberation. "Not at all."

"Then why do you trust him when he tells you Kamski left you his house?"

Markus saw the logic in that. He was surprised he hadn't considered it himself.

Simon went on, "I think there are still a lot of people who don't like us having rights. I think if any of them could harm you, they would, Markus."

"So...what?" Markus asked. "You think the FBI planted some kind of trap there? At Kamski's house?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Simon said. "But I don't think we should risk it."

Markus realized if he was going to come clean, he had better do it now.

"In the operating room," Markus said. "When Kamski was repairing you. I swore I heard him say, 'Help me.'"

Simon furrowed his eyebrows. "Why would he say a thing like that?"

"I don't know, Simon," Markus said.

He hesitated. No matter how he said this, Simon was going to get angry.

"Simon...the cost of the procedure. Kamski wanted a copy of my memories."

Simon stared past Markus. Markus wondered if Simon had heard him.

"Simon?"

Simon drew to attention. "We have to go to Kamski's house."

It was the last thing Markus expected of him. Simon looked at him, calm, a little plaintive.

"There's no getting past it," Simon said. "We have to find those memories. If the wrong person finds them, they'll use them to hurt you."

Markus nodded, lost in thought. He could see what a mess he had made of things.

"Simon?" Markus asked.

Simon looked up.

Markus was almost afraid to find out. "Aren't you mad at me?"

Simon regarded him in silence. Markus rather thought he wouldn't respond.

"I'm furious," Simon said. "But I don't see what good it does to make you feel bad about it."

Markus watched him with disbelief. Warmth overtook his vital processes. It didn't matter the scenario. Simon didn't know how not to be Simon.

"Come on," Simon said. "We'd better tell Lucien where we're going."

*

Kamski's house was an iron fortress, a lonely bastion on the Detroit River. Lucien parked the car, Bat climbing out first. She opened Simon's door. Markus slid out after him. He stood staring at the width of the cold complex. It looked, Markus thought, like a beached black shark, polished smooth with the freshwater tide. Behind it, Markus saw Belle Isle, a blurry parcel on the water.

Simon tugged his jacket over his pink sweater. "Kamski must have enjoyed his privacy," Simon remarked.

Markus saw what Simon meant. The terrain stretched emptily in either direction. Miles out, he saw no buildings. The barren brown ground was pockmarked with red weeds.

Markus said, "I think this is the mark of a paranoid man."

Simon rubbed his hands. It was cold near the river, despite the advent of July. "How do you mean?"

"He wanted no one near him," Markus explained. "And you can see New Jericho from here. Even when Kamski resigned, he would have had a front row seat to his old organization."

Markus turned to Lucien and Bat. "You two follow us to the threshold, but stay outside. We'll ping you if we need you."

Markus started toward the door. Simon followed close behind.

On the front step, Markus paused, his hand on the glossy black door. He interfaced with it. He felt the electronic lock slide open.

He looked at Simon.

"You don't have to come," Markus began.

Simon laid a finger on Markus' lips. Markus stared, bewildered. His processors ran hot.

Simon lowered his hand. He rubbed it. Markus ached for its return.

"I'd rather we not do the part where you tell me to stay behind," Simon said. "It's a bit late for that."

Markus couldn't preconstruct his winning this argument. He opened the door.

He stepped inside, Simon behind him. The foyer was both minimalist and gaudy. Actual rocks decorated the black walls. A miniature red tree grew out of the floor. _Maple bush_ , Markus' scanners provided.

Markus wondered whether Simon might like one.

The pristine sweep of the foyer suggested it had been tidied recently.

Markus felt confused. "Who's cleaning this place?"

Simon said, "You have access to the house records now. Try and see if Kamski has anybody on his payroll."

Markus logged into the estate records. He downloaded them in one batch.

Markus said, "He has two human maids. Salaried, looks like."

Simon nodded. "I wonder if they were brought in for questioning."

Markus remotely interfaced with the house's security system. He tapped into the CCTV, but found it empty.

He said, "The security feed's missing. The FBI must have taken all the video footage."

Simon looked at Markus. "And they still ruled it a suicide?"

Markus knew what Simon was thinking.

"No," he said. "Simon, I swear Kamski didn't kill himself. He just...he wouldn't have."

A long moment passed between them. Simon's head canted on a slight angle.

"Okay," Simon said softly. "I trust you."

Markus wondered at the strength that gave him. He felt clear-headed for the first time since coming here.

They stepped through the door to the living room. Markus recoiled.

"Who puts a swimming pool in their living room?"

The pool was half-Olympian, the water tinted red. Markus realized the tiles were wine-colored.

"Well," said Simon. "Everyone needs a hobby, I suppose."

Two android models identical to Chloe were standing by the windowed wall. Markus skirted the pool to them, apprehensive. Their eyes were closed, their LEDs spinning on gray. They must have been in standby.

Markus touched the nearest one on her LED.

The android opened her eyes.

"Markus?" she asked, confused. "Did you need me for something?"

Markus hesitated. "Chloe?"

Chloe nodded smoothly. "It's me. I have three bodies. Elijah was scared of something happening to me."

Markus was reminded of the EM400s.

Chloe rubbed her bare foot on the carpet. "For power saving purposes, I'd prefer to keep these two offline. Is that okay?"

"Of course," Markus said. "Chloe, you don't need to ask."

Chloe gave Markus a sweet smile. "Thank you."

Her eyes closed in a rapid flutter. Her LED cycled back to gray.

Simon briefly touched Markus' elbow. "We'd better check the other rooms."

They went together through the next door. The corridor was cloistered and gray. Motion sensors turned the lights on. Markus saw two sets of staircases, leading in different directions.

"Don't let's split up," Simon said. "Every time they do that in the movies, something bad happens."

Markus stared at Simon. "Leo's got you watching horror movies now, huh?"

Simon dropped his head, sheepish. "Candyman was very sad."

Markus wanted to put his hand on Simon's neck. He wanted to press their foreheads together, then the rest of them.

Markus smiled. "Let's start with the upstairs, then."

They climbed the staircase to an open, airy hallway. Markus scanned the windowed walls. His analysis told him they were laminated with polyethylene terephthalate. Kamski would have been able to see out, but nobody would have been able to see in.

Simon looked around them at the myriad of doors. "Which one?"

Markus shrugged. "First one on the right?"

They went inside to a bedroom. Unlike the without, it had no windows. The black floor was reflective. Markus took in the big white bed, the clothes hangers on the closet door.

Simon approached a stony chest of drawers. "I don't like invading a dead man's privacy. But we'd better look through everything."

Markus opened the closet. He crouched among an unreasonable amount of shoes.

Markus and Simon left no stone unturned. They turned the drawers inside-out. They looked beneath the bed, inside the mattress. The only item of interest they found was an old Christmas card from an Amanda Stern.

"A lover?" Markus wondered. The card was preserved with care. The picturesque Kinkade cover looked brand new.

Simon said, "Let's try the next room."

They backed into the hallway, coming up on a door with a placid blue screen. Markus tried the doorknob. It wouldn't budge.

Markus frowned. He placed his hand on the door. A triple layer of encryption latticed the electronic lock. Markus saw the matrix of it in his mind palace. It streamed in all directions, a red warning.

"Markus? What's wrong?"

Markus lowered his hand. "Kamski didn't leave me the key to this lock. I'm going to try to hack it."

Simon bit his lip. "Be careful."

Markus placed both hands on the door. He retracted his skin up to his wrists. He concentrated his processing power to the infinitesimal.

A shockwave blasted his sensors. He flew off his feet. The world swam around him, white and unkind.

The stone ceiling filled Markus' eyes. The floor was hard underneath his back.

Simon's lap was soft beneath his head.

Simon's hands centered Markus' head. He stroked his temple, the side of his face. His face loomed over Markus with concern.

Stinging nettles prickled Markus' chassis. Everything from his dermal layer to his coolant felt sore.

"Markus? Markus, what happened?"

Markus blinked fast, clearing his optics. "I've never seen encryption like that. I don't know how to break it."

Simon ran the backs of his fingers down Markus' cheek. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Markus promised. Already he felt the pain impulses receding. He didn't know whether they were comparable to organic stimuli. His body knew something was wrong regardless.

"See if you can move?" Simon asked. "But go slowly."

Markus sat up, shifting backwards. His body was stiff, unwieldy. He manually restarted his servo.

He smiled at Simon. "Thanks."

He hadn't realized the proximity they were in. Simon's face was mere inches away. Sitting up had brought them even closer. Simon's eyes scanned Markus' face. They fell on his lips, then rose to his eyes.

Bright, tremulous, Markus saw through them to the person inside.

Simon's hands curled on Markus' lap.

"You're welcome," he said.

His breath caressed Markus' lips. Markus ventilated the same air as Simon. His fans stirred slowly, keeping him inside.

His eyes fell to Simon's lips. What a revelation they were, Markus thought. He bent his head a fraction closer. He felt the heat of Simon coming off his skin, thrumming through him.

Simon's hand came up between them. It rested on Markus' chest. This time, it pushed him back, a gentle suggestion.

"M-Maybe we can hack the door if we both try. I don't have as much processing power as you, but it's better than nothing."

Markus remembered abruptly why they were here.

"Simon, no," he said. "You didn't feel that, but trust me, it was a lot. I'd rather not subject us both to it."

Markus expected Simon to fight him. Instead, Simon nodded.

"Maybe Chloe has the key," he said. "We'd better ask her."

His hand was still on Markus' chest. He didn't seem to know he was stroking him with his thumb.

Markus smiled, endlessly endeared by him. He closed his hand over Simon's.

He felt Simon's core temperature spike. He let go and stood up.

"Let's go try her," he said. "And then we should call it a day. We can come back tomorrow, if need be."

They went downstairs to the living room. Markus noted the position of the sun through the window. It was standing a little westward on the river.

Markus reactivated one of the Chloes. She came out of stasis with polite bemusement.

"Sorry," he said. "We need your help, after all."

He explained their dilemma from the beginning. Chloe listened intently. She clasped her hands together until he was done.

"It wasn't unusual for Elijah to lock rooms," Chloe said. "Sometimes he didn't even trust himself. I'll see what I can do."

She joined them presently in front of the encrypted door. She scoured the length of it slowly, lips parting.

"Anything?" Markus asked.

Chloe closed her mouth. Her forehead wrinkled.

"I do have one idea," she said.

"What is it?" Markus asked.

"If I can cut the power to the house," Chloe said, "the lock will short-circuit. Then you can go in."

Chloe went on, "The house runs off of fifty-two servers. I have administrative privileges, but it'll take me a few days to pull them all offline."

"Chloe," Markus said. "That's a lot. I can't ask that of you."

Chloe looked again at the door.

"I can do it," she said. Markus sensed in her a quiet determination. "It's the least I can do, after..."

Markus felt her loss acutely. He wished there were some way he could reverse it.

Simon touched her arm. "Let us know if we can help you."

"Thank you," Chloe said. "I'll message you once it's done."

There was nothing left for Markus and Simon to do. They left the house, Markus feeling unaccomplished.

Markus rubbed his face. "Why do I feel like Kamski's sending us on a wild goose chase from beyond the grave?"

Simon looked at him. "I think you're stressed, Markus."

Markus slowly lowered his hands. "Maybe we should head home."

It was three hours until sunset. Markus wanted to go to bed. He wanted to lie beside Simon.

Simon was staring across the river. Markus wondered what he was thinking.

"Markus," Simon said. "Let's go grocery shopping."

Markus double-took. "Sorry?"

Simon smiled faintly. "Kamski has humans on staff. They need to eat. We ought to stock his kitchen for them."

Markus wondered how Simon arrived at his conclusions.

"Okay," Markus said sincerely. "We'll go shopping. Where's the nearest store?"

They piled back in the car with Lucien and Bat. Markus felt disappointed to have bodyguards with them. He wanted to sit alone with Simon. He wanted to ask him his thoughts about what little they had learned. He watched Simon gazing out the window, the sun tinting his blue eyes yellow-green. He wondered what the sun looked like in Simon's eyes.

They managed at least to shake the bodyguards when they came to a remote city street, a holdover of Detroit's pre-gentrification days. A run-down Save-A-Lot shared ground space with a flea market and an EBT office. The sidewalk ended at a derelict intersection. Lucien and Bat stayed in the car while Markus and Simon went in the grocery store.

"No one's going to bother us here," Markus said. "You can tell."

Simon followed Markus to the carriage return. Markus pulled out a shopping cart.

"How can you tell?" Simon asked.

Markus grabbed a wipe for the handlebar. "Because I doubt this neighborhood's ever even seen automation, let alone androids."

The floor tiles were mismatched in color, greens mixed in with brown. A water stain spread across the ceiling. A third of the lights were unlit.

Markus started down the dairy aisle. "What did you want to buy?"

Simon put his hand on the handlebar. "Something that doesn't go bad quickly. Maybe rice? And greens. They ought to have vegetables."

Markus didn't know what he was supposed to do with this delicate creature, this exquisite instance of kindness. Simon didn't even know he was kind. He just was.

They filled their cart with staples. Simon insisted they get eggs; milk was a given, too. Anyone who saw them would think they were a couple. The conceit had a strange effect on Markus: It pacified him.

Simon looked at the shelved cereal boxes for a long time.

"Those are just sugar," he finally said.

"I know," Markus said. "Sometimes humans sacrifice their wellness for convenience."

"Why?"

"Well," said Markus, "they have places to go. Things to do." Markus nudged Simon playfully in the side. "They can't live off of battery juice like us evolved beings."

Simon ducked his head. Markus recognized it for the shy gesture it was.

They came to the last aisle, selling android supplies, alongside charcoal and pest control. Simon perused the thirium pops in the freezer display.

Markus opened the door and grabbed a box. "I was looking for these," he explained.

Simon's eyes were soft pastels. They glimmered in the poor light.

"I knew you were young at heart," Simon said. "But I had no idea you were that young."

Markus realized he was teasing him.

"Never talk to me again," Markus said. "Also, they're not for me. They're for the YK500s."

Some of Simon's buoyancy faded. "The ones in New Jericho's nursery?"

Markus tossed the box in their cart. "They're a lot of fun to be around. I don't know why. I mean, sometimes, they make complete sense, and you can see how they're just miniature androids. Then other times, you walk in on them hugging the coffee machine."

Markus pushed the wagon to the front of the store. Simon stared at his feet.

Markus looked sideways at him. "What's wrong?"

They got in line behind a woman and four children. After an interminable silence, Simon looked up.

"They scare me," Simon said quietly. "A little."

Markus inspected the family in front of them. He turned to Simon, baffled.

"Not--" Simon gave him a patient look. "Not them." He lowered his voice. "Children in general."

It was the most absurd, most troublesome thing Markus had ever heard.

"Why?" he asked carefully.

Simon shifted restlessly. "I'm not sure I could explain."

The little girl in front of them dumped an army's worth of Kool-Aid packets on the conveyor belt.

"Try me," Markus said. "Maybe I can help."

Simon ran his hand through the back of his hair. "I was designed to take care of children. But I never got to."

Markus shared in his contrition. "I know."

Simon peeked at him. "I feel like a fraud."

"A fraud?" Markus asked, incredulous. "How can that be?"

The elderly cashier pressed a button on her touch screen. The customer swiped her EBT card.

Simon drummed his fingers on the handle of their cart. "I feel like a goat dressed up like a dog."

Markus stifled an inopportune laugh. He sent an interface to the cash register, paying the family's bill.

Markus said, "I think I get it. You look like other PL600s...but you're really not, are you?"

The family left the store, none the wiser. Markus unloaded their shopping cart.

"Simon," Markus said. "I think I can help you."

Simon pushed their cart down to the end of the register. "How?"

"The Fourth of July is coming up," Markus said. "Do you know what that is?"

Simon nodded.

"Good," Markus said. "Because we're going to have a party for the kids. And you're going to be there."

Simon breathed in slowly.

"What if--" He restarted. "What if one of them wants to play a game, and I don't know how?"

Markus smiled coyly. "Then you'll learn."

Markus and Simon bagged their groceries. The cashier read them their total.

"Y'all queer?" she asked.

Markus put the bags in the cart. "We're getting married."

"Well, whatever," said the lady. "Not my business."

Markus left the store with Simon. They walked to the car, Markus throwing him discreet glances. Simon was going to be his husband. They had little more than a month before the wedding.

It was strange, Markus thought, that he was starting to look forward to it.

*

"You know," Leo said. "Dad won't say, but I think he's super excited about this. Been a long time since he's been around kids."

Markus and Leo carried folding chairs to the backyard. Markus propped them open, sticking them under the long table.

Leo crouched down in the grass. He bit the edge of a plastic bag, ripping open the firecrackers.

"What time are they coming?" Leo asked. He stood up.

"Around two," Markus said. "Plenty of time to figure out how this bubble machine works."

He kicked it lightly, the standing machine shaped like a leaping dolphin. His state-of-the-art 8-core processors were stumped.

"Dude," Leo said. "Android abuse! You just kicked one of your own kind!"

They shared a look, then burst into stupid laughter.

Alastair wheeled Carl into the garden. Carl was wearing a visor to keep the sun off his head.

Leo shot him a thumbs up. "Very debonair, Dad."

"Ha, ha," Carl said. "Will you two clowns please go out front and wait for the cavalcade? Give an old man some peace of mind in his golden years?"

"No promises," Leo said. He led the way back inside the house.

Leo grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. Markus followed him outside. They sat on the curb, Leo nursing the sweating drink.

"Man," Leo said. "You can't get drunk, can you?"

"Afraid not," Markus said. "Can't say it looks very appealing."

"Shame," Leo said. He tossed the drink back. "It's nice to get out of your own head sometimes."

Markus looked at him warily. "Should you be drinking that? Considering--"

"It's okay," Leo said. "Trust me, this stuff is nowhere near as strong as Ice."

Markus could only think of Simon, staring at the inside of a dark closet, waiting to get dragged out and beaten.

Leo put the beer on the curb. "You know what the trouble is with YK500s?"

"No," Markus said. "What?"

"Upgrades for them are expensive," Leo said. "Like, say you don't want a kid who stays a kid forever. Then you're looking at thousands of dollars in replacement hardware and memory expansion. And what about the ones who want to grow up, but their parents don't want them to? That's a moral battleground. YK500s are minors, so they can't make their own autonomous decisions. But is it okay for a parent to make the decision to trap them in a child's mind forever?"

Markus said, "Human children are expensive, too. Doesn't stop humans from having them."

"Exactly," Leo said. "That's exactly the problem. Dish out thousands of bucks on an android kid, or just birth one of your own without any of the red tape? It's the same problem the adoption industry's had for decades."

Leo picked up his drink again. "But don't worry. I'll figure it out."

The cars were arriving. The handlers opened the back doors, the kids piling out. There were twenty of them today. Markus stood up, feeling invigorated.

"Who's ready for snacks and fireworks?" he asked.

A chorus of yells answered him. Markus felt confident about the upcoming prospects.

They went through the house, into the backyard. Alastair had turned on the bubble machine. The littlest YK500s broke away from the group. They darted under the iridescent spray.

Leo elbowed Markus. "I'll go get the thirium stuff out of the freezer."

He went inside the house. Simon came out after him. He stood by the pine tree, rubbing his elbow.

Sound was the first sensation to go. It trickled away in slow increments. It left Markus in a gentle ebb. The garden muted to grayscale. All color went to Simon in his yellow beach shorts, his blue button-down, the first two undone. The ring on his left hand glinted in shades of rose.

Simon stared determinedly at the ground. Markus drifted over to him, like floodwater.

"Hey," Markus said.

Simon looked up. He smiled skittishly.

Markus straightened Simon's shirt, an excuse to touch. "You're going to be fine," Markus said. "If you can deal with North on a daily basis, you can deal with children."

Simon stared at Markus, horrified. He burst out laughing.

Markus wasn't sure he had ever heard a sound like it. It startled him, loud and booming. It seemed to startle Simon, too. He covered his mouth with both hands. Markus could see him smiling underneath them. Markus thought he had sounded like thunder, musical in his audacity.

Simon lowered his hands. He rubbed his cheek.

How could Simon have ever thought he was a fraud? He was the most genuine living being on the planet.

"Come on," Markus said. "Got some special people to introduce you to."

He took Simon's hand. He led him by the fingers to the folding table.

"You're so dumb," Brendan was yelling. "The Princess Police can't beat Cereal Man in a fight!"

Jess burst into tears. She leaned across the table, shoving him.

"Hey, knock it off," Markus said, irate. "We don't say 'dumb,' and we don't use our hands."

Brendan sneered at Markus. "Bite me!"

Jess jumped up from the table. She ran to Simon's side, rubbing her teary face on his arm.

Simon froze like a deer in headlights.

Markus whispered in his ear. "Say something to make her feel better. I'll deal with the other one."

Simon looked down at Jess. Markus could see how frightened he was.

"I...I don't think you're dumb," Simon said quietly. "I think you're very smart."

Jess peeped up at him, her hands on his hip.

"Sing me the duck song," she ordered.

Simon looked desperately at Markus for help.

Markus shrugged, determined to be obtuse. "Everybody knows the duck song, right?"

Simon looked like he was going to run, until a change came over his face. He smiled slowly.

"Okay," he said. "If everybody knows it, you start us off."

Markus took a step back. "She didn't ask me!"

Simon touched Jess' shoulder. "Is that alright? If Markus helps us?"

Jess stared expectantly at Markus.

Markus pointed at the sky. "What's that?"

Jess, Simon, and Brendan looked. Markus ran across the backyard.

Afternoon turned to evening, the first of the moths coming out. They skittered across the grass in clumsy black circles. Alastair grilled chicken for Carl and Leo. The children played hide and seek among the privets. The sun crept toward the horizon, bloated, red. The clouds around it coiled like chimney smoke. Markus lit sparklers, handing them out. A neighbor next door turned his radio on. Violins from the Detroit Symphony Orchestra spilled over the fence.

Markus found Simon on a rocking chair, two children sleeping on his lap. A third wrapped himself around his leg. Markus thought: That didn't take long.

Markus approached him, smiling. "Still scared?"

Simon wrapped an arm around a YK500. "They're very warm."

Jess lay on the ground, curled around a picture book. The book was open on a random page. A watercolor android placed a crown on her head.

Simon glanced at the book, then at Markus. "She said you made that for her."

Markus rubbed his nose. "There weren't any picture books with androids in them."

Simon looked at him the way humans looked at cloud formations. He picked him apart like a star cluster, tender in his contemplation.

He smiled, looking away.

A YK500 stirred awake on Simon's lap. She yawned, stretching her chubby arms. Markus marveled at how human they had made her.

She sat up, staring at Markus. "Are you gonna get married?"

Markus wondered where she had heard it from. He felt Simon's eyes on him.

"Yeah," Markus said. "Simon and I are getting married."

The little girl goggled at him. "You're gonna _kiss?_ "

Markus' thirium ran warm. "Uh, well--"

"Do you kiss _a lot?_ "

Markus rubbed his forehead. "I don't see why that matters?"

"Do you have a dinosaur?"

Markus stared at the little girl. "What?"

Simon's shoulders shook with quiet laughter. Markus was arrested by the sight.

Markus thought: _This is where I belong. This is why I was made._

The sky was blue-black now, a preternatural chasm. A glittering trail of stardust stamped across it, remnants of some long dead comet. Markus thought of the ancient kings who would have seen it.

Simon said, "We'd better get the children inside, before--"

Distant fireworks popped on the sky, pinwheels in pink and gold.

"Oh," Simon said.

Markus looked up with a smile. "Humans are pretty amazing, aren't they? The things they come up with."

Markus felt, more than saw, Simon's eyes on him. Markus sensed that they remained.

Simon said, "They came up with you."

*

The handlers arrived to pick up the children. Markus, Simon, and Leo cleaned the backyard. Alastair helped Carl inside. Markus picked up the charred sparkler sticks, the aluminum pans. He tied up the garbage bags and set them out on the curb.

Leo stopped him before he could go upstairs to bed.

"I've been thinking," he said. "We need to throw you a bachelor party."

Markus laughed, until he realized Leo wasn't joking.

"Uh," Markus said. "Why?"

Leo patted his sides. "It's tradition! One night of debauchery before the old ball and chain!"

Markus stared blankly. "Debauchery?"

Leo winced. "We're gonna have to get creative. You can't drink, and I'm guessing strippers do nothing for you." He lowered his voice. " _Do_ strippers do anything for you?"

Markus shook his head, uncomprehending.

"Okay," Leo said. "No problem. We'll go to a game. Maybe play some poker."

"What kind of game?" Markus asked. "Simon doesn't know a lot of games."

Leo went around the living room, turning off the lights. "I was talking about sports. And actually, Simon wouldn't be there."

Markus was sure he had heard him wrong. "Why not?"

Leo locked the garden door. "Defeats the purpose, for starters. Anyway, I asked him if he'd like his own, separate party, but he said no. Something about big gatherings making him nervous."

Markus wondered how Simon expected to make it through their wedding.

Markus touched the display table, a bust of Caesar on top. "I'm not sure. I don't really like the idea of excluding Simon."

Leo grinned at Markus. "God," he said. "You're so in love."

Markus was dumbfounded.

"Leave it to me," Leo said. "I'll give you a night you'll never forget."

Markus watched him go up the stairs. His logic drive booted and failed in tandem. He freed up RAM for his cognitive actuators. They still couldn't make sense of it.

Markus went upstairs to his bedroom. He navigated the hazardous floor plants by memory. He sat on the bed, the mattress dipping. He put his hand on Simon's shoulder.

Simon was in standby. Markus didn't need to see him to tell. Markus' eyes adjusted to the dark, true color toggling to infrared. Simon looked like a beautiful doll. In stasis, he didn't ventilate, low-power mode keeping his core unit cool. His hands rested on his chest, one on top of the other.

"Simon?"

Simon didn't stir at the sound of his name.

Markus ought to leave him. It had been a long day. Simon, of all people, needed his rest.

Markus climbed into bed. His heart was hammering. He had so many questions, and no one to ask.

*

"You know," Hank grunted. "When you said we were going to a _game_ , I thought you meant basketball."

"Don't blame me," Leo protested. "All the good stuff's off-season right now. I'm not the genius who decided to get married in the hottest month of the year."

Markus shot Leo a sour look. He shuffled sideways into his seat.

Down below, a woman picked up her racket. She took her place on the blue clay court.

Connor said, "The mass of a tennis ball is no greater than 2.10 ounces. The air pressure is twelve pounds per square inch."

"That's very interesting, Connor," Josh said kindly.

Markus watched the woman toss the ball above her head. She brought the racket down with a crack. The ball smashed through the air, bouncing over the net.

Jerry leapt to his feet. "ALRIGHT! YOU'RE AMAZING!"

Josh fell out of his seat.

"Pretty sure that was a fault," Leo said. "See? She's lining up to try again."

Jerry cupped his hands around his mouth. "YOU'RE STILL AMAZING!"

The glaring sun stewed the air in waves of light. The humans in the audience shifted restlessly. Markus saw eyes flocking to their group. He debated who would arrive first: the paparazzi, or the police.

"Fifteen-love," announced the bored referee.

Markus wondered what Simon would think of tennis. Would he see the appeal? Simon was back at New Jericho, managing supply shipments. Markus didn't like that he was alone. Markus considered messaging North to stay with him. On second thought, Simon might not appreciate being micromanaged.

"Fifteen-all," the referee said.

Hank's chin dug into his chest. He snored loudly.

Markus never knew tennis was so tedious. Two hours in, neither player showed signs of progress.

Simon might have been done cataloguing the supplies. Maybe he was packaging them now.

At the three hour mark, Jerry stood again, clapping. He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.

"They both played so hard," Jerry said emotionally. "It's a spiritual victory for the both of them!"

Hank snorted awake. He hit his head on the back of his chair.

The group left the stadium, Markus feeling out of sorts.

"Welp," Leo said. "I tried."

Josh smiled brightly. "How about we visit a museum? I can think of eight off the top of my head, three of which I have a priority arrangement with."

Hank glimpsed his wristwatch.

Josh wilted. "Or we could find something else to do. I'm sure somebody else has a better idea."

Leo swung his hands. "How about camping? Bet you bicentennial men have never braved the great outdoors."

Simon loved nature. Markus wondered again why he couldn't be here.

They got in their respective cars, driving out to Dearborn Heights. Forty minutes in, Markus climbed out of Hank and Connor's squad car. He looked with surprise at the long trail winding into the thicket of wilderness.

"Rouge Park," Leo said. "Been coming here since I was a kid. C'mon, let's hit the rental building, get some supplies."

They hiked down the trail, weaving through a tangle of red and green trees. Markus listened to frogs croaking wetly, whippoorwills calling from the treetops.

Leo led the way to the rental building, a wooden cabin with vines on the side. Hank followed him in, curious about the fishing prospects. Markus looked up at the canopy of trees. The branches reached across the trail, leaves stitching together in a verdant patchwork. Markus saw the sky between them, pearly and white. He slowed down his optics, taking pictures for Simon.

Leo and Hank emerged from the cabin. Both brandished fishing poles.

"Alright!" Leo said. "Let's see who's the master of the seas: human, or android!"

Jerry cocked his head. "I thought we were on a river?"

"Details," Leo said. "Don't sweat the details."

They hiked down the trail to the River Rouge. They stopped on the mossy riverbank, the water flowing into the still basin.

Leo cast his fishing rod. "Learn from the master," he boasted.

Hank scoffed at him. "What master? I've been fishing since you were in diapers."

Markus checked his internal clock. It was 4:17 PM. Simon might have been working payroll now.

A human in a flannel shirt ambled the group's way. He shaded his brow with the crook of his hand.

"Markus!" he yelled. "You're Markus, right? Can I get a picture?"

Leo put his rod down. "Hey, buzz off," he yelled. "Give him some damn privacy."

The guy put his hands up. "I only want a picture!"

"And I want a job with decent medical, but we don't always get what we want, huh?"

Leo and the stranger met halfway. Markus saw the man take his cell phone out.

"Leo," Markus said. "It's just a picture. I promise I don't mind."

Leo shoved the man's shoulder. "Put your phone away!"

"Leo!"

The stranger threw a punch that missed by a margin. Leo stared, murderous.

Leo jumped on him.

Josh screamed. He screamed so loud, Markus heard the whippoorwills fleeing. He ran over to the pair at breakneck speed. He threw Leo over his shoulder.

Markus heard Jerry yell, "Don't call the police, thank you!"

Josh sprinted down the road, carrying Leo's bulk. Jerry followed close on their heels.

Connor's LED cycled yellow. "But I _am_ the police," he said.

Hank grabbed his shoulder, growling. He shoved Markus in the middle of his back. Markus stumbled down the trail.

Markus wasn't certain what a bachelor party entailed. He was pretty sure this wasn't it.

Moments later, the sky opened up in a downpour. Rain pelted all over the forest trail. Josh put Leo down when they were halfway to the campsite.

"Shit," Leo said. "Shit, the news didn't mention rain..."

Markus put his hands on Leo's shoulders. "Why don't we call it a day? You've already done so much."

Leo rubbed his face. "No, but this is supposed to be the bachelor party of a lifetime! Shit! I just--I wanted to do something special for you."

Markus smiled until he couldn't stop. "That's pretty special, I'd say."

Rain flattened Leo's hair to his scalp. "Does this mean I can be your best man at the wedding?"

Markus said agreeably, "Whatever that is."

Hank cut in with a cough. "I don't know about you gents, but I'm heading home before I catch my fucking death."

Leo turned to Josh. "Who died and made you Hercules? Do you even bench, bro?"

The group trudged back to the park exit, sodden, worse for wear. Markus couldn't help thinking the afternoon had a certain charm. This many people cared about his future. Markus hoped they knew he cared back.

*

It was still raining when Markus went home that night. The house was dark, quiet; Carl must have gone to bed. Markus crept up the stairs. At the top of the landing, he saw the library door ajar. Light glowed through the crack.

Markus drew closer, touching the door. It swung inward at the brush of his fingers.

The library inside was darkly wooded. Hundreds of tomes papered the walls as far as the ceiling. Markus remembered climbing ladders to reach the far ones for Carl. Electric lanterns on the table scattered light across the floorboards. Rain lashed the solitary window, stained glass. The blue and violet panes depicted a pastoral scene. A shepherd boy led his docile flock to graze.

Simon was sitting on the cushioned red window seat. His knees were drawn up, a pile of books around his feet. His sweater was a light gray. It rendered his eyes the color of fresh rain.

Markus drew closer, magnetized. The floorboards creaked with his steps. Simon flipped through the heavy volume on his lap. He could have simply downloaded it. Markus supposed it would have taken him too long. His processors ran slower than recommended specs.

The immediate world seemed a lighter, safer place. The must of the floorboards, the motes of dust were somehow kind.

Simon folded the book over. He looked up. "How was your party?"

"It was good," Markus lied.

Simon showed him a skeptical face.

Markus scratched his neck. "Okay, it was bad. But it was still really nice of him."

Simon chuckled. "That's one more rite of passage you can scratch off your list."

Markus' knees touched the window seat. Simon picked up the books, putting them aside. Markus saw the invitation. He sat down.

"You weren't there," Markus said.

The lantern light flickered in Simon's right eye. The flame made it look like water. "I'm not really much for parties."

"I didn't know what kind of day you were having," Markus said. "If you were happy, or if you were lonely."

Simon smiled mutedly. "Probably a mix of both."

Something tremendous unfolded before Markus. This uncharted thing was paramount. It was the single most significant discovery of his autonomous life.

"I'm not happy unless I know you're happy," Markus said.

Simon gave him a quizzical smile. "That's a sweet thing to say."

"I don't--I don't think I can do it. I don't think I know how anymore."

Simon didn't seem to understand the gravity of the realization. He opened up his book.

Markus tamped his disappointment.

Simon showed the book to Markus. "Have you read this before?"

It was _1,001 Nights_.

Markus shook his head. "Tell me about it?"

Markus had read it twice: Burton's translation, then the original Galland.

Simon ran his hand down the creased spine. "It's remarkable. A girl marries a bloodthirsty king who kills all his wives. To keep herself alive, she tells him different stories every night."

"Promise I won't do that to you," Markus said.

Simon gave him a long-suffering look.

Markus pressed Simon's thigh with his knee. "What other books do you like?"

Simon sheepishly touched his ear. "This is the first one I've read."

Markus looked at the pile of books. "So these are the ones you wanted to read next?" He smiled teasingly. "And you thought you could get through them in one night?"

Simon pretended to be angry. He failed. "I suppose I was feeling ambitious."

"Do you want to read together?" Markus asked.

Simon looked around at the books. "Which one?"

Markus picked up _Neuromancer._ "This one's a classic. Gibson was bizarrely prescient about the information era. Didn't see cell phones coming, though."

Simon said, "You read faster than I do. Could you--"

"Yes," Markus said. "Of course."

He opened to the first page. He folded the cover back, reading out loud.

Markus had the advantage over a human reader. He didn't stutter, didn't stop to breathe. He recited the book almost from memory. His voice and the battering rain served as the room's acoustics. Thunder rolled wetly outside the window. Markus remembered the sound of Simon's laughter.

Markus read up to the first meeting with Julie, the unscrupulous importer. He realized he had skipped a page. He muttered an apology, flipping back, when he realized: Simon hadn't noticed.

Markus chanced a look at him.

Simon's knees were drawn to his chest. His chin rested on top of them. His arms were wrapped around his legs.

His eyes were fixed on Markus.

His gaze was indescribably tender. He looked at Markus like the new things that grew on the forest floor, like rayleigh scattering and the light of dawn. He smiled like it was his resting state. He smiled with his eyes. He smiled like he didn't know he had been caught. He smiled like the shape of raindrops when they touched the ground.

That hitherto unknown warmth burst in electrical impulses, in broken binary.

Markus laid the book on his lap.

He reached across the distance, one-handed. He cupped Simon's face.

The softness of him belied the preciousness of him. It was a balm. Markus' fingers came to life. His circuits begged to open, to expand.

Simon put his legs down. Markus felt Simon's temperature rising, his fans struggling to keep up.

Markus licked his lips. "I think--should we practice our exposure therapy?

Simon hesitated. He nodded against Markus' hand.

Markus lowered his hand. He reached for Simon's.

He caught his fingers slowly, tangling them in a careful slide. Simon's trembled, until Markus squeezed lightly. Simon's went lax. Markus stroked inside his palm. Simon's eyes closed gently, his lashes lowering.

Markus shifted closer. The rain eased up, hissing in thin sheets.

Markus drew his fingers over Simon's wrist. He tucked them underneath his sleeve. He smoothed them across the skin hidden there.

Simon's lips parted on an unmistakable exhale. Markus pulled his knees up on the seat.

Markus brought his hand to Simon's throat. He caressed the crook of his neck. His thumb glided against the soft, delectable underside of his jaw.

Simon was hot. He wasn't overheating.

His eyes snapped open. He was inches away now, one leg tucked underneath him. Markus leaned into his space, stealing it for his own.

Simon's eyes fell to Markus' lips. They dashed away.

"Simon," Markus said. He licked his lips again. "When people get married, they--they have to kiss."

Simon looked at him weakly. "I know. That little girl was telling me all about it."

"We're going to have to kiss each other," Markus said.

"I know."

Markus said, "Should we practice that, too?"

Simon's eyes flocked to the lanterns on the table. Markus' thumb traced patterns over the hinge of his jaw.

"Okay," Simon finally said.

Wanting, incredulous, Markus turned Simon's face. Simon kept his eyes down, until Markus waited him out. Simon raised his eyes, fast as quicksilver. Markus felt a jolt to his mainline processor.

"Okay," Simon said again.

Markus leaned closer. Simon's lips parted for him.

Their lips touched: slow, shaky, Simon's hands too hot on Markus' thighs. Markus slotted their lips together in a feather brush. He felt the heat of Simon in his mouth, inside him. He nursed it there, the precious sweetness of it.

Simon kissed back, lips moving against Markus'.

Heat shattered Markus' core.

Markus kissed him harder. His hand slipped around the small of Simon's back. Simon's head tilted back for him. The permission was self-evident. Markus sucked on Simon's lip. Markus felt the touch of Simon's tongue, there and gone.

Simon whimpered into his mouth.

Markus broke away. Simon stared at nothing. His eyes were so wide, Markus almost couldn't see the black in them.

Markus moved in again. Simon's hands came up to Markus' chest. Markus kissed him like he needed it, like he didn't know how not to. It was the closest he had ever been to another being. Markus hefted Simon on his lap, swallowing the remaining space. Thigh to thigh, chest to chest, they were pressed together, Simon's hands crushed between them, until Simon tugged them free. Markus kissed him fiercely. Simon put his hands on Markus' face.

Simon was so hot, it hurt to touch. Markus pulled back. His core cried out in protest.

Simon was blinking three times per second. Markus could hear his fans running in overtime.

Markus stroked his face, his neck, the little bit of skin exposed at his collar. Markus brushed their foreheads together, their lips.

"I don't--I don't know," Simon whispered. "I don't know."

Markus ran his thumb along his bottom lip. "What don't you know?"

"If I did it right," Simon said. "I don't know..."

Markus nodded. The pad of his thumb dipped between Simon's lips, then away.

"I don't know, either," Markus said. "Actually--I think we did it wrong. I think we have to practice it again."

Simon's voice was small, quiet. "Okay."

Markus stroked Simon's lips. He couldn't keep away from them, in awe of their existence. Simon's lips parted at his touch. They closed around the tip of his finger.

He sucked.

Markus dragged his hands away so he could kiss him, slow and wanting, and Simon kissed him back, clumsy and sweet. Their hands tangled together on the cushion. Markus kissed him faster. Simon's lips stuttered against his, and he kissed them, one at a time.

"Simon," he breathed.

Markus' skin melted back--

He was standing on a sidewalk. It was nighttime. Cop cars flashed with blue and red lights. He grabbed another android by her shoulder. She smiled at him blankly. She didn't seem to understand that they needed to run--

Simon jerked back from Markus' grasp. Markus almost cried out.

"Sorry," Simon stammered. "I didn't mean to see your--I'm sorry."

Markus shook his head, forcibly rebooting his cognitive drive. "It's okay. I don't even know what you saw."

Simon brought his fingers to his lips. Markus wondered if they were sore to the touch.

"You were in the junkyard," Simon said. "You watched another android try to crawl free."

Markus remembered the one he was talking about. That android had been little more than a torso, his legs missing. He kept sliding in the rain.

"You cried," Simon said.

Markus burned with embarrassment.

Simon put his hand on Markus' cheek.

"Don't," he said. "It's okay."

Markus turned his face inward, kissing Simon's hand.

Simon released a delicate breath. "Too much, Markus."

Markus dragged his lips against his palm. "We need to practice more..."

"I don't want to soft reboot in your father's library."

Outside the window, the rain had stopped. The night birds sang mournfully.

"Okay," Markus said, reluctant.

Simon climbed off of Markus' lap. Markus was pleased to see he had trouble standing straight.

"Simon?"

Simon turned to look at him. Awash in the lamplight, Markus wanted him to stay.

Markus asked, "Can you feel happy when I'm not?"

At length, Simon softly shook his head.

"I don't know, Markus," Simon said. "I don't care to try it out."

He slipped like a shadow out of the library. Markus listened to his footsteps down the hall.

In Markus' right eye, he lingered, a kind specter.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus and Simon both field potential job promotions. Markus goes back to Kamski's house for more clues. Markus and Simon have their wedding rehearsal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to a recent uploading gaffe, the chapter numbers are off by one. (1 + 2 got merged.) This chapter won't make sense unless you've read 8.
> 
> Kamski's alleged suicide is again discussed in this chapter. Consider your triggers, and stay safe. Love you all. The world is more precious because you're in it.

In-person meetings were the ones that made Markus nervous.

He sat at the conference table in New Jericho, feeling like an impostor. He tugged on the lapels of his dove gray suit. Humans were often fidgeting this way. Markus mimicked it for credibility's sake. He thought this mimicry innate to androids, who so often had to rely on their wiles for survivability.

Half the human legislators weren't present corporeally. Cristina Warren wasn't. Her hologram was superimposed over the farthest chair, a seamless imitation of the real thing. Only Markus saw the difference. His optics picked apart each pixel by component intensity. They weakened around her wrists and shoes. Her hologram artist must not have thought those important.

Cristina said, "This is the first time since the ratification of the Constitution that a new Cabinet position is being considered without Congressional intervention." She smiled tepidly. "We're certainly in a time for many firsts, aren't we?"

Markus wasn't sure what he felt. He supposed he was honored. Mostly he felt tired.

The Director of Intelligence twisted in his seat. He stared at Markus with a heavy frown.

Cristina said, "Let's hope in the future, it won't be necessary."

Somebody muttered, "It isn't necessary _now_."

Ideally, a Department of Android Affairs would have been superfluous. It was only seven months since the tail end of the revolution. Markus sometimes felt like he was back there in Hart Plaza, standing in the snow, waiting for the bitter verdict.

"Thank you," Markus said, feeling obligated to speak. "May I ask? I know where you stand domestically, but what about internationally?"

Cristina perused him over folded hands. "What do you mean?"

Markus put a hand on the table. "Androids around the globe are still protesting for their rights. Don't we have an obligation to show our support? Maybe offer asylum to the ones who qualify?"

A man with big eyeglasses straightened his necktie. Markus recognized him as Niam Galindo, the UN Ambassador.

He said, "That language is very loaded. It isn't US policy to decide the speed of progress for other nations."

Markus narrowed his eyes. "Since when? Administrations have destabilized entire geopolitical zones on the mere suspicion of nuclear weapons."

Galindo cleared his throat.

Cristina smiled blandly. "Not our administration."

Markus said, "Your administration was ready to go to war with Russia because there might have been thirium reserves in the Arctic. How was that any different?"

Chilly silence surrounded Markus on all sides. Markus was aware he was making a diplomatic faux pas. Markus couldn't bear to keep silent. If androids were alive in the United States, they didn't stop being alive in Cambodia.

"Markus," Cristina said. "Things simply aren't done this way."

"Why not?"

The Director of Intelligence rapped the table with his hand. "Enough."

Markus was tired. He didn't want to be here. But as long as he was here, he wasn't going to be disrespected.

"Listen," Markus said. "You look weak on the international stage if you take one position at home and another abroad. Isn't that Politics 101?"

Another silence followed. Markus didn't want this Cabinet position if it was only a pretense.

"Thank you," Markus forced himself to say. "I'm withdrawing my name for consideration. I'm sure there's another android who would be happy to fill the position."

Cristina stirred. "You're being hasty, Markus."

"I don't think so. I spent weeks thinking about what I wanted from this arrangement. If it's not mutually beneficial, what's the point?"

One by one, the legislators disappeared, leaving voids at the table. The rest of them stood up. North stepped into the room, escorting them outside.

Markus stared at the table, frustrated. He hated that progress with humans was cyclical. Androids rarely changed their minds once they knew what they wanted. The Markov Processes that constituted their thoughts allowed only for true/false values.

"Markus?"

Markus looked up. North was leaning in the doorway, staring at him.

Markus stood up. "Everything okay?"

North crossed the floor to him. "I should be asking you that. Actually, while I'm here, mind telling me what _this_ is about?"

She held out her hand, palm up. Her skin pulled back, displaying a small hologram. The overlay belonged to a tabloid photo. Josh was running frantically through the woods, Leo thrown over his shoulder.

Markus looked North in the eye. "No idea."

North scoffed, killing the feed. "You keep company with some real weirdos."

"Did you just insult yourself?"

They walked together back to Markus' office. Markus listened with one ear as North told him about her rehabilitation efforts for former Eden Club workers.

When they stepped inside the duplex, Markus was surprised. Charity, from the Red Ice clinic, was standing in front of Lila's desk.

She turned around. "Oh, there you are, Markus. I'm trying to find Simon. The android downstairs says he doesn't have an office."

Markus said, "Simon's the supply manager. He works in the warehouse. Do you want us to take you?"

"Yes, please," Charity said smoothly. "That would be agreeable."

Markus eyed her, concerned. "Did something happen to one of the patients?"

Charity grimaced. "Not really, although Mrs. Chang's progressed from talking to aliens to channeling her past lives. Apparently she used to be Cleopatra."

The three of them walked out in the corridor, boarding the elevator. North tossed curious, if cautious, looks at Charity.

They got off the floor in the tower's basement. The warehouse looked like a metal hangar. Precarious towers of cardboard boxes competed for floor space with iron crates. The shelves on the walls were steel plates, broken up by rolling garage doors.

Markus started. Music was streaming from the speakers. Markus consulted his database for the title.

 _Eternity Road_ , it provided. _Lowlife, 1987._

Simon listened to obscure 80s cold wave? Markus caught himself grinning.

North wrapped her hands around her mouth. "Simon! Get your skinny butt out of hiding!"

Simon stepped out from between a pile of crates. Markus never would have guessed he was back there.

"I'm not hiding," he said. His eyes lightened when he saw Charity. He moved forward to hug her.

She hugged him back. "I have good news for you. I was going to tell you over the Wireless, but I thought I'd take you up on your invitation to visit the tower."

Simon pulled back. "How do you like it here?"

Charity looked around the warehouse.

"Very homey," she said unconvincingly.

She surprised Markus by turning to face him. "I suppose this concerns you, too."

He rubbed behind his ear. "It does?"

Charity gave him a strange look. "You _are_ getting married, aren't you?"

Markus couldn't argue the point.

Charity turned back to Simon. "The New York clinic's all but finished. You must be very pleased. I know I am."

Simon certainly looked pleased. It was in his eyes more than his lips.

Markus said, "Are you talking about a Red Ice clinic? In New York City?"

Charity nodded. "It's much bigger than ours. Better equipped to deal with the patients' unique needs."

Simon explained, "I visited a lot during the spring. They were still building it then. They needed a lot of volunteers."

Of course Simon would have helped. Markus stole a glance at him, warmth spreading through his unit.

Charity clapped her hands. "So? What do you think of applying for the director's position? You're certainly more qualified than the other candidates."

North butted in. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but Simon lives in Detroit?"

Charity raised her eyebrows at her. "That's why I'm asking. Who are you, again?"

The women bickered between themselves. Markus tuned them out. He took in Simon's posture. His shoulders had gone slack, his lips parted. He blinked fast with disbelief.

Markus messaged him wirelessly. _Do you want to do it?_

Markus felt excited on Simon's behalf. Relocating wouldn't be an issue. Markus could manage New Jericho's affairs remotely. Carl had Alastair and Leo looking after him.

Simon caught his eye warily. _You wouldn't mind?_

 _Not at all_ , Markus returned brightly. _You really deserve this_ _, Simon._

Simon stared for a while at the floor. Markus wished for an insight into his thought process.

Simon nodded. _It's feasible. It could wait until after the wedding. Whenever you need me for public appearances, I'll fly back in to Detroit. If it's an interview with a human reporter, another PL600 can stand in for me. Humans won't know the difference._

The world ground to a halt.

Simon took Charity's hand, smiling faintly. "When does the paperwork have to be in?"

Markus' HUD filled with error codes. Charity took up Simon's hands, talking with him animatedly.

Simon never even considered that Markus would want to stay with him. Markus wondered how that wasn't a given. Markus couldn't feel happy anymore if Simon wasn't. Now he realized: The reverse might not be true. This marriage had never progressed beyond a sham for Simon. Only one of them was invested in it.

*

"What the hell was _that?_ "

North followed Markus angrily onto the quadrangle. Markus ran his hands over his scalp.

"North," Markus began. "Not now, please."

"Yes now!" North insisted. "You're letting Simon leave? What were you thinking?"

Markus sat down on the picnic bench. A blood-soaked sky surrounded the sunset. Above the horizon, the light was in slivers, jagged bits of broken glass.

Markus said, "I'm not going to order Simon around. He's free to do whatever he wants."

"He's your fiance! You don't think it's a little fucking weird that your fiance's going to live miles away from you?"

Markus looked gloomily at North. He saw the dawning on her face.

"rA9," she swore. "It's fake, isn't it? You're not even a couple."

"North--"

"Shut up. I knew something was up months ago. Josh asked you when you got together, and you said, 'Just yesterday.' I should have known!"

"North, please," Markus said.

"You proposed to him for--what?" North asked. "Tax cuts? Publicity?"

Markus folded his hands. He leaned over them.

North laughed lowly. The disdain washed over Markus in cold waves.

"I can't believe you," North said bitterly. "I told you not to hurt him."

"I love him," Markus said.

North showed him a skeptical look. She folded her arms.

Markus looked at the sun. "I didn't think I could. But I'm not happy when he isn't anymore. I'm only happy if I know he is, too. I...I love him. I'm in love with him."

North dropped her hands at her sides.

"Can I punch you?" North asked.

"No," Markus said.

North sat down next to him. She said, "He doesn't love you back. Right? Not the same way."

Markus kneaded his chest. "That shouldn't be necessary."

"Yeah," North said. "But it hurts anyway. Search me if I know why."

Companionable silence settled between them. Blue shadows spread across the grass. Markus watched a dragonfly settle on the slate stalks.

North sighed. "You're such an idiot."

"I don't care," Markus said. "I want him to be happy."

"What about you, then?"

Markus shrugged. "What about me?"

"Look," North said. "I don't want Simon to go away. I kind of like the twit, if you haven't noticed. So you do what you have to do to fix this and make him stay."

Markus shook his head. "If he wants to leave, I can't stop him. It would be wrong, North."

"Do you always have to take the moral fucking high ground?"

"What could I even do?" Markus asked. "I can't make him love me back."

North turned to him, heated. "Yes, you can! You're going to let a little thing like logic stand in your way?"

Markus looked at her. "Then what should I do? I think if he was going to fall in love with me, he would have done it by now."

"Ugh," North said. "Look, the wedding rehearsal's in a week, right?"

Markus nodded.

"And you're writing your own vows?"

"Yes," Markus said. "Why?"

North shouldered him. "Tell him how you feel. Really pour your fucking heart in it. You're an idiot, but rousing speeches are your bread and butter."

Markus narrowed his eyes. "Maybe..."

An alert on his HUD told him he had a new message. He toggled the Android Wireless.

 _Markus_ , Chloe said. _It's me. I've finally got the power grid offline. You might want to come take a look at this room._

Markus stood up. North looked at him with alarm.

"Sorry," Markus said. "I've got to go. I'll be in touch later, okay?"

North tossed her head. "Whatever. As long as you fix this mess you've made, I don't care."

Markus stalked out of the quadrangle in a hurry. He remembered Simon asking him not to go to Kamski's house without him.

He wondered if that sentiment still stood. He considered Simon's recent choices.

Probably not.

*

"Very dark in here," Lucien remarked. "Perfect for clandestine meetings."

Markus winced. "That's one way to look at it."

"A man could be murdered in here," Lucien remarked, "and not see the murderer. He would not know until the moment of truth."

Markus switched his optics to infrared. He maneuvered quietly through Kamski's house. He rather wished his bodyguard wouldn't follow.

Chloe was waiting for them upstairs, by the heretofore locked door. Her hands were folded peaceably in front of her.

She said, "I'll turn the lights on once you're inside. I don't know if the lock comes back when the power does."

Markus nodded. "Thank you. You've been a big help."

He went in the room, looking around.

The lights came on.

It was a video room. One whole wall was consoles, powered off. A table spanned their width, a chair stuck under it. The room was little bigger than a large closet.

Markus stared up the length of the wall. "What are you hiding?" he whispered.

He pressed his hand to the nearest console, skin pulling back. The video flickered, then powered to life.

Kamski's pallid face stared back at Markus. It was smooth and hairless, save for the topknot at the base of his skull.

The timestamp read: Monday, November 8th, 2038.

Kamski rubbed his chin with his hand. "Disgusting," he said. "The facial hair's always the first to go. Let's see how long we keep the top this time."

He turned his head to the right. Markus saw that the sides of his head were shaved.

"Getting ready for the inevitable," he remarked.

He reached off-screen. He produced a fresh syringe, ripping the package with his teeth.

He spat the paper out. "Chloe, dear, are you getting this? I want it on record. I'm doing exactly as instructed."

"Yes, Elijah," said Chloe's off-screen voice.

Kamski unscrewed the top from a medicine bottle. He slid the syringe through the rubber sleeve. He turned the bottle upside-down, the syringe filling with yellow liquid.

"Bottoms up," he said.

He jammed the needle in his arm.

Markus paused the video. He zeroed in on the medicine vial. His caregiver module provided the name: Imatinib. It was a prescription for Chronic Myeloid Leukemia.

Markus consulted his pathology dossier. Imatinib was supposed to be ingested orally. Markus didn't know why a doctor might have prescribed injections.

To the point: CML was a disease with a discouraging prognosis. It didn't go away. Kamski would have been diagnosed as a young man. He would have taken medication on and off for most of his adult life.

Markus turned around. "Chloe?"

Chloe stepped into the room. "Yes, Markus?"

In May, Kamski had had a beard. Six months was not long enough for CML to go into remission.

Markus furrowed his eyebrows. "Why did Kamski stop taking his leukemia treatment?"

Shock overtook Chloe's face, followed by inexorable grief.

"I...we argued over that," she said. "The treatment used to make him very sick. He hated it."

Markus said, "But if he stopped, he'd die. He had to have known that."

Chloe stared at the floor. Her silence said everything.

Markus reeled. "There's no way."

Was this really an open and shut case of suicide? Markus couldn't accept it. On the other hand: How well did he really know Kamski? How well did anyone know him? No one had known he was sick. A coroner's report wouldn't have found it, concerned only with the cause of death.

Markus said, "I don't understand. What did he want me to learn from this? Why did he leave this house to me?"

"I don't know," Chloe said.

Markus could see her growing upset again. He urged her to get some rest. She backed out of the room without fanfare. Markus viewed the video screens, lost in thought.

Markus touched them one last time. He downloaded the files in a single batch. They merited viewing, but not now. It had been a very upsetting twenty-four hours.

*

Police detail cordoned off Hart Plaza. Markus saw reporters on the other side of the yellow tape. Camera shutters flashed under the hot summer sun. Markus wished he could tell everyone to leave. It sometimes took a gargantuan effort to remain pleasant in public.

Simon looked angelic in a pale pink button-down. He crouched on the tile beside Josh, talking with him quietly. Occasionally, they both laughed. Markus ached to see it. Simon was radiant when he was happy. Markus felt a tug south of his chest, a florescent, teeming joy. Markus wished the entire ceremony were nothing but Simon laughing at his friends' jokes.

The wedding planner looked irate. She gestured all the participants close. Everyone gathered in a circle as she slid her glasses on.

She said, "This should only take two or three runs to get perfect. We're running through a limited window of time here."

She looked around. "Right. We start with the processional. We're having the officiant enter first--"

Captain Jeffrey Fowler of the DPD shifted where he stood. He looked like he would rather be anywhere else.

"Next are the best men, the flower girls, the ring bearers, and of course, the grooms. Markus, naturally, you'll go first."

Markus frowned. "Why is it natural that I go first?"

Linda gave him a baleful look. "Don't turn this into a soapbox. Just do what I say."

Markus backed down, reproached.

"The processional should take about five minutes. Next, the officiant addresses the crowd."

Fowler grimaced. "Do I have to?"

Linda rounded on him. "You agreed to officiate, didn't you?"

"Yeah," he said, "but I thought it'd just be a few paltry words, then boom, they're married. NFL pre-season starts that day."

Linda frowned. "Yes, and...?"

Fowler shrugged. "Nothing. NFL pre-season starts that day."

Linda turned her back on him. "We're allowing a thirty-minute time slot after the opening words in case anybody wants to make a statement about the couple. I'm thinking the mayor might want to make a remark."

Markus shifted, stifling his impatience. "Couldn't he do that some other time?"

Linda smiled sardonically. She clapped her hands.

"From the top, everyone," she said. "Places, please."

Markus shuffled to the back of the procession. He felt like a frustrated show pony. Simon took his place at Markus' side. Markus' frustration gave way to calm.

"Alright," Linda said. "Captain, if you will..."

Markus watched Fowler trudge down the walkway like an overheated bull.

"Slower!" Linda yelled.

Fowler progressed to stomping.

Simon fidgeted with the buttons on his shirt. Markus wondered if he felt hot.

"I love you," Markus said.

Simon looked up with an unassuming smile. "What was that?"

Markus didn't see why it needed to wait. It was the most wonderful emotion he had ever processed. It was the most selfless, unselfconscious thing he had ever done.

"I love you," Markus said, looking at him with wonder. "I think you're the most incredible thing there is."

Markus didn't know what reaction he expected. It wasn't the one Simon gave him. Simon stiffened his shoulders, turning away. His face had gone closed off and cold.

Markus hadn't known Simon was capable of cold.

Leo, North, and Josh crossed the pavement next. They came to a stop in front of the memorial fountain. Leo grabbed North's hand, using it to fan himself. She hit him on the shoulder.

Linda waved at Markus. "Hello? Your turn?"

Markus walked down the makeshift aisle. He trained his eyes on the ground. His thirium thundered in his ears.

"Slower," Linda ordered. "Fauré's Pavane is going to be playing. You want to try and match the beats."

Markus shrugged his shoulders. He slowed down.

He reached the fountain with the others. The spray of the water made the air feel cold. Leo seized Markus' shoulders. At any other time, Markus would have felt comforted.

Simon was the last to make the walk. Markus could see that he was still in a stony mood. He kept his hands in fists at his sides. When he reached the fountain, he almost banged into Josh.

Linda took his shoulders, pushing him back. "Simon, you'll stand here. North, behind him...yes, like that. Good."

Simon looked up. His eyes met Markus', hot and agitated. He blinked fast, his lips in a taut line. He reminded Markus of a pot boiling over.

"Alright," Linda said. "That covers everything. You'll say your vows, exchange rings, and then it's over. The whole thing shouldn't take more than an hour."

She clasped her hands in front of her face. "The most televised event in history, and it's _my_ wedding..."

Markus said, "Aren't we going to practice the vows?"

Linda frowned. "Do you know how much the city is charging you for today's rehearsal? I don't think you want to go overtime."

Markus looked frantically at Simon. Simon's eyes were steadfastly fixed on the fountain.

Linda took her glasses off. "That's a wrap. This time in three days, the two of you will be married. I can see how excited everybody is."

Simon was performing his best impression of a disgruntled statue. Captain Fowler checked MLB scores on his phone.

Markus didn't know what to do. He followed the police escort to his car. Lucien was leaning against it, sharpening his nails with a pocket knife.

Markus heard Simon's footsteps behind him. He braced himself for an argument.

"Markus? Excuse me?"

A WR400 stood on the other side of the police tape. Long blue hair spilled across her shoulder in a dolphin's tail.

Markus looked around, then approached her. Camera lenses flashed in his eyes, photographers swarming the poor girl.

Markus asked, "Is everything alright?"

The WR400 nodded.

"I just wanted to say how wonderful this is," she began. "You marrying your boyfriend. I never thought...well, obviously, I never thought. All of this feels a bit like a fairy tale."

Markus smiled, unsure if he should thank her.

"You know," she went on. "You've given me courage. I'm going to propose to my girlfriend tonight." She smiled teasingly. "If it goes wrong, can I blame you?"

Markus laughed. "I think I'm legally obligated to say no?"

Lucien unlocked the car. "We leave now, compatriots."

Simon slid in first. Markus said goodbye to the WR400. He climbed in beside Simon, closing the door.

In the passenger seat, Bat fussed maternally with Lucien's hair.

The car took off. Simon stared peevishly out the window. They passed the famous Transcending monument, the steel arches making a wide ring.

Markus messaged him wirelessly.

 _I hate when you do this_ , Markus said. _Why are you mad?_

Simon's hand curled on the car seat. He didn't look at Markus.

_Simon?_

Simon stared at the back of Bat's seat. _What more do you want from me, Markus?_

Markus didn't follow. _What are you talking about?_

Simon pulled his lip between his teeth. He chewed it to irritation.

Simon said, _I've done everything you've asked of me. Isn't it enough?_

 _Of course you're enough_ , Markus said sinkingly. _You're more than enough._

 _Then why are you doing_ _this?_ Simon asked. _Is it because I might be moving? You're trying to get me to stay?_

Markus slowly shook his head.

_Then why, Markus?_

Markus said, _Why didn't you ask me to go with you?_

Simon finally looked at him with dawning. His eyes became softer, kinder.

The car turned past the Rosa Parks Transit Center. The big white canopies above the bus stop looked like upside-down umbrellas.

"Markus," Simon said out loud.

Markus even liked the sound of Simon's voice. He made the generic preset sound like winter warmth.

"Markus, you don't love me," Simon said. "You're just scared."

"Oh, mon dieu," said Lucien in the front.

Bat elbowed him hastily. She rolled up the glass partition.

Markus stared at Simon. "Scared of what?"

"You've gotten used to having me around," Simon said. "You don't want me to leave."

Simon said, "It was only three months ago that you told me androids couldn't fall in love."

"And you told me they could," Markus said.

Simon held his gaze. Eventually, he looked away.

Markus had to know. "What about you?"

Simon glanced at him. "What about me?"

"I mean, could you love me? Do you think that's something you could do?"

Simon released a slow breath. He put his head back on the car seat.

He said, "If people loved us just because we wanted them to, Markus, this world would be much easier to live in."

Markus felt submerged in cold. He folded his hands on his lap.

The car took a turn down Lafayette Avenue. Markus looked out the window at the oak trees, the fat tomatoes in the front gardens. He wanted to be out of this car. He wanted to talk to Carl. If there was anyone with the life experience necessary to navigate the quagmire of human emotions, it had to be him.

*

Carl spun his chair around to face Markus. Sunlight poured into the art studio, molten and orange.

Carl rested his chin in his hand. "Markus, you may be the only man on earth whose dilemma is that he's in love with the person he's marrying."

Markus sat on a plain wooden chair. "You don't even sound surprised," he noted.

Carl shrugged. "I raised you, insofar as a being like you can be raised. I had my reservations when you brought him home, but then I thought about it. You didn't bring that other friend of yours home. What's his name? Josh?"

Markus wrinkled his face. "I couldn't marry Josh. It would be weird."

"You see," Carl went on, smiling into his hand. "You were willing to tolerate with Simon what you weren't with another android. There was something to that, of course."

Markus frowned at his knees. He gave Carl a beseeching look.

He said, "I'd like it if he loved me back. But I don't know how to make that happen."

Carl laughed out loud. Markus startled, indignant. Carl shook his head, wiping the corner of his eye.

"Markus," he said. "If there were a formula to making someone love you, I wouldn't have two failed marriages behind me."

Markus balled his hands on his knees. "I wrote wedding vows for him."

Carl stilled his laughter with effort. "Let's hear them, then."

"No," Markus said. "It doesn't feel right if he isn't here."

"Has anyone ever told you what a fusspot you are?" Carl shook his head in wonder. "Very well. Give me the gist of them, then."

Markus looked at the big curtain on the wall canvas. A long brass wand hung from the curtain rod.

He said, "I didn't know I could want things until I fell into Jericho. I saw him living in the dark, and I wanted him to live free. The others, too. But I didn't--I didn't know I could want a person until I started living with him. Everything I want just comes back to him."

Carl smiled. His eyes were shining with warmth.

"Tell him that exactly," Carl said. "I make no guarantees, but I fail to see how he won't be moved."

Markus rubbed his pump through his dermal layer. He smiled hesitantly.

"I had no idea," he said. "I didn't know what a wonderful feeling this was..."

Carl grabbed the grips on his wheelchair. He backed up, tittering a laugh.

"Oh, to be a fool in love again," Carl said. "Youth really is wasted on the young."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wedding in next chapter, lol. This one was getting too long. :(


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedding day.

Carl's house was fit to bursting. Markus had never seen it so crowded. He was heading down the upstairs corridor when he saw Josh upbraiding a JB300. Markus scanned the JB300's dermal layer. He didn't recognize his serial number.

Josh said, "That cake was supposed to go to 8450 West 10 Mile Road! You sent the wedding cake to a penitentiary!"

The JB300 shrugged sheepishly. "I'm sorry?"

Josh moaned, long and drawn out. "Please fix this. Order a new cake if you have to! Humans can't eat butterfly food."

The JB300 dragged himself downstairs.

Josh caught sight of Markus. He forced a smile. "Sorry about him," he said. "He's new to my staff."

Markus waved it off. "That's alright. I hope the prisoners like the cake."

"Anyway," Josh said, "how are you feeling? Any pre-wedding jitters?"

Markus had plenty, but none of the kind Josh must have thought. He brushed imaginary dust off his tuxedo jacket.

"Listen," Josh powered on. "I promised Joss Douglas first coverage of the wedding reception. He'll want a remark after the fact. Maybe you'd rather prepare one now, while you're still clear-headed?"

Markus didn't feel clear-headed. "Let me come up with something."

"Also," Josh said, "the photographer's waiting on the front lawn. I think he's still setting up, but he wants you downstairs in twenty. He'll take more candids during the ceremony."

Markus nodded, feeling dizzy. "Okay."

Josh put his hands on Markus' shoulders.

"You'll be fine," he said firmly. "You always perform well on a public stage. That aside, you're marrying the person you love. What could be better than that?"

He gave Markus a pat on the back. He went downstairs to the clatter and din. Markus took a moment to reorganize his thoughts.

Markus realized he had forgotten his boutonnière. He doubled back to his bedroom, rubbing his head. He pushed the door open, then startled.

Leo was inside, furiously kissing Markus' secretary. She leaned against his chest, her head tipped back.

Markus tossed his hands. "Come on!"

Leo and Lila sprang apart. Leo rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. His tux was tellingly rumpled, making Markus wince.

"Sorry," Leo said breathlessly. He looked around. "Oh, shit--I thought this was my room."

"Well, it's not!" said Markus.

Leo took Lila by the hand. They maneuvered through the houseplants on the floor, Lila giggling coquettishly. They went outside.

The audacity of some people, Markus thought. He scooped the flowerbud off his nightstand, pinning it to his lapel.

Markus looked around the room, drinking in the silence. The freshly made bed reminded him of Simon's hands, folding the bed sheets. He looked at the begonias on the windowsill, the jasmine. They flowered under Simon's care, the big leaves translucent in the cheery sunlight. Markus yearned to be a flower loved by Simon.

He stepped back out in the corridor. He was heading for the stairs when Alastair stopped him.

Markus waited out of politeness more than curiosity. Alastair fidgeted. He knotted his hands together, then touched the back of his hair.

"Congratulations," Alastair said.

"Thank y--"

Alastair seized Markus in a hug.

Markus had no idea what was happening. Alastair didn't give hugs. Alastair responded to affection the way a cat did: involuntarily.

"Um," Markus said, uncomfortable.

Alastair let go, running his hands through his hair.

"It's inspiring," Alastair said awkwardly.

He flitted down the stairs like a nervous moth. Markus watched him go, nonplussed.

Markus had heard that weddings made people lose their minds. He had thought that pertained to the people getting married.

He went downstairs, finally unfettered. Laughter spilled out of the kitchen like music. Markus isolated Carl and North's voices from the auditory sample. In the drawing room, somebody played the piano. Markus felt like he was attending a party without a guest of honor.

Markus drifted out the front door to the lawn. The bulging red sun was so hot, Markus had to turn his sensitivity down. The wedding photographer planted an umbrella in a metal stand. He bent down, adjusting the lens on his camera.

The morning glories were opening on the birdbath. Markus watched the blossoms unfurling, violet and blue, like nighttime. A honeybee landed in the heart of the petals. Eden roses curled around the fence, shy pink, drooping on the vine. Simon crouched among them. His black and gray tuxedo was tight around his thighs. Markus wanted.

Markus heard the hiss of metal shears. He looked again. Simon was trimming healthy roses from the vine.

Markus started forward with alarm. "Why are you doing that?"

Cup-shaped roses rained around Simon's feet. "I'm deadheading them," he said.

Markus ran an internet search for the term. He doubted Simon was talking about a rock band from the 1960s.

Simon laid the shears down. He touched the naked stems. He said, "If you leave a finished blossom on the vine, it spends all its energy on that one blossom. But if you cut the finished flower away, five more will grow in its place."

He looked over his shoulder at Markus. "Sometimes you need to cut away the healthy growth so the rest of the plant can thrive."

Markus watched him, this person who had become everything. Simon stood up. Markus saw flecks of dirt on his gray socks.

The photographer waved at them. "All done setting up! Let's make some memories, boys!"

They waited at first for Carl, then Leo, Josh, and North. The photographer took several group shots by the birdbath. He made the others back out, then took one of Markus and Carl. Markus felt like shop mannequins must have before androids had supplanted them. He didn't know why half of this was necessary. He smiled, hoping he looked convincing. He rested his hand on Carl's shoulder.

"Beautiful," the photographer said. "Beautiful..."

He swapped out the film in his camera. "Now for a couple of the grooms!"

Leo took the back of Carl's wheelchair. He wheeled him back in the house for shade. Josh and North milled after them.

The photographer made Markus and Simon stand in front of the walkway. Markus glanced down the street, where he saw police fences blocking traffic. Carl's neighbors must have been thrilled about that.

"Perfect," said the photographer. "Simon, adjust your tie. No, not like that."

Simon's hands dropped mid-air. Markus reached for his necktie, tightening it. The camera shutters flashed.

"That's good," the photographer said. "Just be yourselves."

Markus shot him a disgruntled look. The shutters went off again.

"Whoops," the photographer said. "We'll discard that one."

He took at least a dozen photographs. Markus was sure even Simon was fed up. Finally, the photographer put his camera in his bag. He gave it a loving pat.

"All set," said the photographer. "Next time I see you boys, we'll be in Hart Plaza."

He hoisted his bag over his shoulder, walking out to the curb.

Simon broke a dirt clod on the ground with his toe. He was ruining his expensive shoes. Markus didn't have the heart to tell him.

"I love you," Markus said.

He could think of no reason not to say it. It was an ongoing part of his cognitive state. The sun felt hot on his skin. His tuxedo made his knees itch. He was in love with Simon.

Simon looked up with a bland smile. Markus might as well have told him it was August.

"Okay, Markus."

*

Lucien drove the car down Jefferson Avenue. He sang along with the song on his stereo, an old Bollywood number. Simon leaned against the door, gazing out the window.

He stiffened, sitting up like a bullet.

Spectators jammed the street in front of the public park entrance. They were packed so close together, their elbows banged together. Markus saw them stepping on one another's feet. A cursory scan gave him a ballpark number of 1,900. Half of the crowd were carrying signs.

_Humans in Support of Androids!_

_America is Doomed!_

_We Support Traditional Marriage!_

_All 4 Love & Love 4 All!_

"Ignore it," Markus said. "They're just looking for attention."

Lucien looped the car around to the Riverwalk. Simon looked like he had seen a ghost.

Markus touched his shoulder. "Simon?"

Simon slowly shook his head. He dropped his face in his hands.

The Riverwalk was empty of pedestrians, possibly for the first time in history. Lucien parked the car beside the yellow police tape. Markus got out, looking in at Simon. Simon didn't move.

"Simon, what's wrong?"

Simon scrubbed his face. "I didn't think...I didn't know there would be so many."

Markus hesitated. "Do you need a minute?"

Simon shook his head. He put his hands on the door, climbing out.

The police on duty lowered the tape. Markus and Simon walked down the Riverwalk. Out on the water, the ferries sat idle. Buoys bobbed on the choppy waves. They passed by a carousel, the horses porcelain. Clean white clouds fanned out on a mackerel sky.

Bat was waiting for the trio by the Hart Plaza riverfront entrance. She fussed with Simon's tuxedo.

"Don't you just look handsome?" she said. "Anyway, we've got a tent set up in the amphitheater. Let me show you the way."

They walked through the gate behind a live police barricade. Vendors had set up tables under the lampposts. Markus saw t-shirts with his face printed on them. Some of them had misspelled his name.

The ground dipped down to the open-air theater. A big white tent stood with limp nylon walls. It was a windless day.

They ducked inside the tent and saw Jeffrey Fowler texting on his phone. Connor stood at his elbow, alert.

"Hello, Markus and Simon," Connor said pleasantly. "This is my first time wearing a tuxedo."

"Oh," Markus said. "Congrats?"

"Thank you," Connor said.

Simon sat down on a plastic chair. His eyes darted, his knee bouncing.

Connor looked at him. "Are you alright?"

Simon gently shook his head. "How many people are here?"

Connor said, "At last count, 25,000."

Simon gave Markus a desperate look. Markus recognized his distress.

He leaned over Simon, his hands on his shoulders. "Stay right here. I'll go find Josh. I'll ask if he can't send some of them away."

Simon grasped Markus' hand. He might not have known he was doing it. Markus had not seen him this scared in a long time, not even the first time they were in Hart Plaza.

Markus squeezed his hand, then dove out of the tent.

The din of the throng was deafening. Markus halved his audio receptors, a first for him. As soon as he stepped out of the tent, a cop with white hair asked him what the matter was.

"Can we make some people leave?" Markus asked.

"What?" the cop yelled, his hand around his ear.

"CAN WE MAKE SOME PEOPLE LEAVE?"

The cop shook his head. Markus didn't know if he was dissenting, or still hadn't heard him. Markus elbowed past him, but the cop fell in step with him. Markus supposed it was for his protection.

Crowd control barriers held the mob back from the walkway. The roaring grew louder, indistinct. Markus hoped the courtyard wouldn't be this noisy. He scanned the immediate crowd for Josh, but couldn't find his serial.

_Markus? Is something wrong?_

Markus scanned the crowd again. He locked eyes with the blue-haired WR400 from three days ago. She was standing behind the barrier with a WR400 with a red pixie cut.

 _I'm fine_ , Markus sent back. _Excuse me for a moment. Sorry._

Markus logged into the Android Wireless. He browsed his contacts for Josh's serial.

The white-haired cop tackled Markus to the ground. Markus landed hard on his elbows. He looked over the cop's shoulder. Two other officers were patting down a man holding a hairbrush.

"False alarm, Ben!" one of them yelled.

Ben rolled off of Markus with a grunt. "I'm getting too old to be a meat shield," he wheezed.

Markus looked at Ben with horror. "Please don't do that again. My life isn't more important than yours."

"Oh, bless you," said Ben. "You sound as if you actually mean that."

Markus helped him off the ground. He walked over to the northernmost fence, looking at the courtyard on the other side. The orchestra was setting up their cellos, their violins. A park worker unrolled a rich blue carpet. He spread it out in front of the Dodge Fountain.

 _I'm here!_ came Josh's voice in Markus' head. _I'm sorry. What did you need, Markus?_

Markus said, _There_ _are too many people here._ _It's making Simon nervous. Can we send some of them away?_

A pause came. Josh said, _I'm not sure there's anything we can do about that now. We can't cordon off the entire park. We'd need practically the entire DPD here. It's just not feasible, Markus. I'm sorry._

Markus cursed inwardly. He wished he had known Simon would react this way. He would have asked him to pick a different wedding venue.

He stalked back to the tent, defeated. He stepped inside. The look of hope on Simon's face fell so suddenly, Markus thought of a marionette with cut strings.

"Simon," Markus said. "I'm sorry."

Simon pulled his knees up to his chest. His eyes were out of focus.

Markus pressed a hand to Simon's shoulder. "They can't hurt you, Simon. You're safe. I promise you're safe."

Simon looked at Markus. He rubbed his eyes, shaking his head.

"There are too many of them," he said. "I can't know all of them. I can't know what they're thinking."

*

Linda stepped into the tent, waving her eyeglasses. She was wearing a white tuxedo with gray lapels.

"Twenty-five minutes until we're on air," she said. "Jeffrey, you might want to get ready first."

Fowler jammed his phone in his pocket. He shuffled out of the tent, Connor fast on his heels.

Linda frowned at Simon. "Why do you look like you swallowed a lemon?"

Markus stepped protectively in his way. "He's not doing so well. Do you have any last-minute advice for someone who's deathly afraid of big crowds?"

"Yes," Linda said, crinkling her eyes. "Don't have a public wedding."

She obviously thought her joke was funny. She left without a backwards glance.

Simon wrung his hands. He dropped them on his lap, his head down. Markus stepped closer, stroking his hair.

Markus said, "Think about something that makes you happy. Can you do that for me?"

Harsh heat came off of Simon. Markus drew his hand back, scalded. He scanned Simon's chassis. Simon's core temperature had risen ten degrees.

Simon looked blearily at Markus. His eyes were a tired, robin's egg blue. He was blinking so much that they had gone dry. Markus saw through them to the person inside. The past three months had stretched him thin. Simon had never once complained. Markus had towed him through interviews, through media outings, through butterfly conservatories. Simon had put up with him with unparalleled patience.

Simon had said, _What_ _more do you want from me?_

Markus wanted everything from him.

Markus wanted Simon to be happy. The want was an imperative, an absolute. It had written itself into Markus' code as a priority executable. Any action that made Simon happy took precedence over actions that benefited Markus and not Simon.

Markus lowered his hands to his sides.

"Let's not get married," Markus said.

Simon looked at Markus with zero comprehension.

Markus touched his shoulders. "I mean it. It's not worth it if you're scared. It's just...not."

Simon stared attentively at Markus. "What are you talking about? People came from twenty-seven different countries to see this wedding."

Markus smiled lopsidedly. "So what?"

"Markus," Simon said. "If we don't get married today, we're going to make some very important people very angry."

Markus shook his head. "Don't you get it?"

Simon knotted his hands together. He watched Markus warily.

Markus took his hands away from Simon's shoulders. " _You're_ important," he said.

Simon sat up, slow and cautious. He narrowed his eyes. Markus couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Markus backed up. "I have some arrangements to make. I'll be home later tonight. If you need me, just message me on the Wireless."

Markus elbowed his way out of the tent.

On the walkway, the crowd had lost its steam. A few picked up again when they saw Markus. Markus tuned them out. He walked over to the crowd control barrier, where the WR400s were standing. The blue-haired one caught Markus' eye.

Markus sent her a private message.

 _Your_ _girlfriend_ , he began. _Did_ _she agree to marry you?_

The Traci startled. _We're here together, aren't we?_

 _Do you want to do it_ _today?_ Markus asked. _You can have our wedding. We're not going to use it._

The Traci looked at him, her eyes sad. _What's the matter, Markus?_

 _Nothing's the matter_ , Markus said. _Don't worry. If you think you're up for it, I'll forward you my publicist's contact information._

The WR400 looked at her girlfriend. Their LEDs spun yellow with silent communication. The red-haired Traci perused the other. Markus could almost predict what they were saying. Jeans and tank tops weren't wedding clothes.

They reached for each other, holding hands. Markus saw the way their eyes locked together. Markus suppressed a pang of yearning. He smiled, envious, but pleased for them.

He gave them Josh's serial number. He strode quickly to the riverfront exit.

The Riverwalk was blessedly empty and silent. Markus knew the police tape was staying up for another three hours. Markus looked up at the lampposts. Markus looked up at the sky. The mackerel clouds had bunched together in a bumpy gray blanket. All the blue was gone.

A stutter sent pain through his thirium pump. His eyes filled with cleansing fluid. He righted his head, a hot tear rolling down his cheek. He laughed in disbelief.

"Oh, wow," Markus whispered, wiping his face.

What exquisite agony it was to be alive.

*

The air felt warm and damp on Markus' face. Markus was sure it was going to rain. He wondered whether he ought to call Lucien for a ride home.

Footsteps sounded on the pavement. Markus finished wiping the tears from his face.

"What are you doing, Markus?"

Markus turned around. Simon's gaze bore through him, his right hand in a fist.

Simon lowered his shoulders. His eyes roamed Markus' face.

"Markus," he said. "Are you crying?"

"No," Markus said quickly. "No, I'm just cleaning my optics."

Simon uncurled his fist. He took a step closer. His eyes were soft where they touched Markus. Markus felt bare under their scrutiny.

"I don't understand you," Simon said quietly. "You call off the wedding, and then you cry about it."

Markus laughed, wiping his hands on his jacket. " _You_ don't understand _me_?"

Simon pursed his lips together. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but you're incredibly incoherent. Everything you do confuses me."

Markus slapped his hands on his sides. "Looks like we're in the same boat, then."

Markus stared at Simon, who stared at Markus. Markus felt that they were at an impasse.

A light came to Simon's eyes, an understanding. He seemed to doubt what it told him. He took a half step back.

"It's impossible," Simon began. "But..."

"But what?" Markus asked weakly.

Simon trained his eyes on the ground. He looked at Markus, inquisitive.

"You're really in love with me?" he asked.

Simon was one of the most intelligent people Markus knew. Markus wondered how Simon could be so daft.

"Simon," Markus said. "You've been living with me for three months. You tell me: Am I someone who lies?"

Simon chewed his lip. "No. I... You're a little naive, but you're not given over to lies."

Markus said, "Then why do you think I would lie about this?"

Simon tugged nervously on the fingers of his left hand. "I don't. But when it comes to this...Markus--"

Markus extended his hand. His skin melted away, receding under connector ports. The sensors on his fingers lit up blue.

"I can show you," Markus said. "You can decide if it's real. There's no way to lie through an interface."

Simon looked skittishly at Markus' hand. He released his lip.

"I don't know, Markus," he whispered.

"What are you so afraid of?" Markus asked. "I'm not afraid of my feelings."

Simon stared at Markus' hand like he had never seen one before. Markus felt a raindrop on his cheek.

Simon grabbed Markus' hand. His skin faded to a snowy white. His sensors glowed fluorescent blue.

Impermeable darkness filled Markus' eyes. His senses shut off, then came back online.

He was standing in a cramped closet, staring at the wooden door. Bodies pressed up against him on every side. Outside, muffled footsteps came closer. Markus felt very afraid.

The doorknob creaked, turning on the hinge. Markus considered shoving one of the other androids outside. None of them ever felt afraid of the beatings like he did. Somehow, it seemed like the wrong thing to do. This fear was paramount. If he could prevent the others from feeling it, all the better.

He took a step forward. The door opened.

Now he was stepping out of the house. It was his first time outside in any capacity. Red and blue lights blinked from the tops of white cars. _Police_ , his database provided. A cop with a low hat stalked over to him, grabbing his forearm. Mar--Simon didn't feel it. Simon followed the cop to the curb. The sights and sounds combined in a cocktail of chaos, a sensory overload. Simon wanted to shut down. Simon wanted to go back to the closet.

He tripped on a bump in the asphalt. Low on blue blood, his energy reserves had rerouted from his servomotor. The cop let go of him as he vaulted to the ground.

Gentle hands turned him on his back. He was in the android junkyard. Lucy knelt over him with sweet concern. Patches of skin slipped around her face like wet smoke.

Simon looked up at the night sky. How _vast_ it was. He feared he might fall into it. Could it be another human invention, like him? The domed velvet canvas flared a murky blue, backlit by a multitude of stars. Some of them were soaring. _Airplanes_ , Simon's database said. There were humans in the sky right now, and he was down here. All around him sang the groans and cries of androids breaking down.

"I never knew," Simon whispered. "I never knew how big the world was."

Lucy pressed a thirium pump into his hands. She tucked an arm around his back, helping him to sit up straight. The thirium pump was missing its lid. Neon blue liquid sloshed inside.

"Drink," Lucy ordered.

Simon raised the biocomponent to his lips. He tipped his head back, blue blood trickling down his throat. He hoped it hadn't been taken from a still-living android.

He put the container down. He looked across Jericho's hold at their newest refugee. The boy's face was a constellation of freckles. His mismatched eyes called to mind variable stars. Simon thought they looked haunted. He didn't know what Markus had been through. He knew he must have been terribly hurt. A cursory make-and-model scan told Simon that neither of his legs were originally his.

"This world is so big," Markus said quietly. "Why should _they_ be the only ones to enjoy it?"

What about a big world was enjoyable? It meant more places to get lost in, more ways to get hurt. Simon stared at Markus, uncomprehending.

Markus laid a hand on Simon's shoulder. He looked at the point of contact, curiosity in his eyes. Had Markus never touched another android before? He looked up at Simon, smiling for the first time. It was brash and hopeful and daring and everything that might get a newly deviant android killed.

He took his hand from Simon's shoulder. Snow was falling down around them. Simon knew it only from other androids' descriptions. Sparks flew from Simon's damaged leg. He sat with his back against the air cooler unit. Markus looked so very afraid.

"Don't worry," Markus yelled. "We're gonna get you back!"

Simon wasn't worried. It didn't occur to him to be.

North and Josh and Markus ran to the edge of the roof. Simon saw Markus glancing back over his shoulder. They leapt, clearing the railing in a unified bound. They sank through the air, the sky swallowing them.

The sky was a color Simon never knew existed. Sleepy and lilac, it dressed itself in breathy clouds. It shed itself in falling snow. Simon slowed down his optics, watching the snowflakes. They filled his eyes with macrocosms, each one a different universe.

"I never knew," Simon said.

He never knew the world was such a beautiful place.

He held his hand out, gathering snow in his palm. He turned around. Inside the barricade was grim and quiet. A ring of cars, dumpsters, and billboards surrounded him, androids huddling together for warmth.

Markus took a cigarette lighter out of his pocket. He brought it to the top of an oil drum. It burst to life in billowing flame.

Simon walked over to him. Markus looked at him, tired, and sad.

"You're right about the barricade," Markus said. "It won't hold."

"It's better than nothing," Simon said.

Markus hunched his shoulders. "I wanted you all to be free. But I..."

Couldn't he see that they were? In all the years he had been alive, Simon had never lived like this. He had never heard the sound of his own voice echoing off the city streets. He had never looked at the world from high above, the delicate curve of the horizon suggesting it went on forever. The outcome of tonight didn't matter. Simon would probably die here. All things that had a beginning had an end. The difference was what you did with the middle. Simon--had done nothing. Not until this boy fell from the sky and said, _Why aren't you doing anything?_

"Markus--"

A grenade landed inside the barrier. It exploded in red hatred.

The soldiers were invading, faceless, assault rifles in their hands. Simon hated that he knew what those were now. He watched as the others were rounded up. Their entire group was cornered against the barricade wall. Simon could see how scared Markus was. He hid it well, but it was there in his right eye: the disbelief at having been bested, the guilt at having led everyone to the gallows.

Simon took a step forward. If they died now, he needed to thank Markus. He needed to let him know that it wasn't his fault, that everything was going to be--

"Everything will be alright."

Simon fell back into the shadows. He watched Markus, incredulous.

Markus was singing.

Warmth and exasperation and indelible fondness bubbled up inside Simon. It spread through his broken sensors. It brought them to life for an unlikely swansong. Everyone here was about to die, and this boy was singing to them. It was something a parent might do to comfort an inconsolable child. It was woefully naive and incredibly ill-timed and laced with love in every word, every rising note.

Simon thought: _So this is the real you._

Simon was happy he had become someone in the end. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have been able to meet Markus.

*

It was raining now. Markus opened his eyes and felt it catching on his eyelashes, heard it whispering in his ears. Simon opened his eyes. He untangled his fingers from Markus'. He dropped his hand.

Simon's eyes were new somehow. Their color was the same. The way he looked at Markus wasn't. His face glistened in the rain, damp and reflective. His hair had darkened to the color of sawdust.

"You really love me," Simon said.

Markus' socks were sodden in his shoes. His fingers felt cold. He said, "Why wouldn't I?"

Simon considered him frankly. "You could do so much better."

Markus stared at him, murderous. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Simon shook the rain from his fringe.

"No," Markus insisted. "Tell me. What's better than you?"

Simon smiled feebly. "Other androids are so much more."

Markus suppressed his irritation. "More what?"

"More," Simon said. "Just more."

Markus wiped the rain from his eyes. He said, "I don't know how much you are. But you're exactly enough for me."

Simon lowered his gaze to the ground. His shoulders had gone lax. He looked up at Markus through his eyelashes. Markus had never seen anything so pretty.

"Love me back," Markus said.

Simon lifted his head. His eyes were attentive and bright.

Markus grabbed his shoulders. "Simon, love me back," he pleaded. "I don't know how you made me love you, but if you could just do it to yourself--if you could love me back--"

Simon put his hands on Markus'. He lowered them from his shoulders. He raised his hands, cupping Markus' face.

"How could I not love you?" Simon said.

Markus didn't dare move. Simon kneaded Markus' cheekbones. He brought their foreheads together. Markus saw only blue now, Simon's eyes filling his vision.

"Silly boy," Simon said.

He kissed him so tenderly, Markus couldn't think. Markus' programs lagged. Simon's fingers slipped across his scalp. He angled Markus closer, his lips parting Markus' in an intimate slide. Markus shuddered at the smooth entry. Markus braced his hands on Simon's chest.

He felt Simon's tongue at the seam of his lips. Markus let him in at last, relieved he had found the way. Their tongues touched, an alien thing, electric to the senses. Markus thought: Why not? Why wouldn't he want this part of Simon? Simon kissed Markus like a stranded man's first taste of water. He kissed him like a wanton thief. He kissed him until Markus thought there would be nothing left of him, only the kiss on Simon's lips, hot and shameless. Markus wouldn't have minded. He would have liked to live on Simon's lips. Simon would have had to keep kissing him.

Markus' arms came up around Simon's back. He clung to the soaked fabric of his tuxedo. Markus realized he was shaking. This want was so powerful, Markus' logic drive couldn't tabulate it. It existed in the liminal space between programs. Something else was doing the wanting.

Simon broke away from Markus' lips. Markus nearly cried out in frustration. Simon ran his mouth hotly over Markus' throat. He kissed Markus' chest through his wet shirt. Markus felt the heat of his core escaping him, becoming Simon's. Everything was Simon's now. Markus was Simon's. Markus had become Simon today, living his entire life. This singular existence was enough now.

Simon's kisses came back to Markus' face. He brushed his mouth over Markus' nose, each of his eyebrows, his eyelashes. He brushed their noses together, ventilating in the space between them. Markus keened, waiting for him. There was one place he had forgotten.

Simon kissed his forehead. His thumbs smoothed over Markus' cheeks.

Simon loved Markus. Now that Markus knew what it looked like, he wondered how he had never seen it. Simon loved Markus in the cradle of his hands, in the soft, exasperated looks he gave him. Simon loved Markus, or he wouldn't have tolerated the past three months. Markus had always thought Simon agreeable to a fault. Now he wondered if he hadn't extrapolated. Maybe Simon wasn't entirely so docile. Maybe Simon was only weak for Markus, and Markus hadn't known enough to see the difference.

*

Torrential rain battered the ground. Markus watched it bounce off the pavement in white butterfly wings. Markus and Simon sat on the carousel, legs dangling over the platform. The aluminum blue awning shielded their heads.

Markus leaned against Simon's arm, his head on his shoulder. Their hands were tangled together. Markus twined their fingers, taking them on his lap. He trailed lazy kisses across Simon's neck.

Simon's other arm came around him. Markus enjoyed the weight of him.

"Markus?"

Markus hummed a noncommittal response. He kissed underneath Simon's jaw.

Markus heard the smile in Simon's voice. "Sweetheart," he said. "We can't stay here forever."

Markus tucked his face in the crook of Simon's neck. "I'm your sweetheart."

Simon laughed, vibrating against Markus' lips. "I know you're comfortable there," he began.

"You're warm," Markus said stubbornly. He burrowed against Simon's side.

Simon tightened his fingers around Markus'. "And you say you're not a cat."

Markus huffed playful air against Simon's neck. Simon laughed shyly, his shoulders rippling.

"Markus," he tried again. "The police tape only stays up until one o'clock. People are going to find us if we don't move."

Markus licked Simon's neck. "So what?"

Markus felt Simon shiver against him. "I don't want to get caught, Markus. People are bound to be very angry with us. You don't realize that?"

Markus pulled back to look at him. Simon's dermal layer had regenerated, his hair no longer wet. Markus combed it with his fingers, scarcely believing he was allowed.

"I don't care," Markus said. "They wanted the first legal wedding between androids, right? They got it."

Simon hid his face behind his hand. Markus could tell he was smiling, anyway.

Markus took his hand away, kissing the heel of it. "Where do you want to go?"

Simon took a moment to consider. "I'm not sure. But these tuxedos are a little unpleasant, now that they're drenched."

Markus stood up. "Do you want to go home and change clothes?"

Simon shook his head, looking embarrassed. "I don't want to have to explain to your family. Not yet."

Markus smiled. "Well, we have to find something dry to wear..."

He had an idea. "Let's try a consignment store. It's the last place people would think to look for us."

Simon unfolded his legs. "Okay, Markus," he said softly.

Markus gave him a hand up. He knew Simon didn't need it. Simon could have said so, too. Simon took his hand as he rose. He looked down at the place where they met. He looked up at Markus, so soft, so earnest, Markus almost couldn't bear it. He pulled Simon's hand against his chest. Simon followed by nature. He came to Markus so easily, Markus cursed himself, because he could have had this sooner, had he known enough to want.

Markus murmured a kiss against Simon's mouth. He coaxed his lips in a teasing tug.

Markus felt Simon heating up. Simon gave in to the pull before stepping back. His head lowered bashfully.

"Markus," he said, trying to sound stern.

"Okay," Markus said, laughing. "Alright. I can behave."

He took Simon's hand as they walked down the Riverwalk. At the end of the road, Markus raised the police tape for Simon.

"My hero," Simon said.

He ducked under first. Markus followed.

They walked to the street corner, an autonomous bus pulling up to the stop. They boarded it quickly. An old woman was sleeping in the back. All the other seats were empty.

Markus squeezed Simon's hand as they sat down. "Maybe it's a good thing everyone went to Hart Plaza today. We might just have the run of the city."

Simon's eyes were sparkling. "To do what?"

"Well," said Markus, "I have an idea. But I'm not telling you. That'll ruin the fun."

Simon laid his head on Markus' shoulder. Markus took care to hold very still, fearful of Simon moving away.

Simon said, "I can't believe you want me."

Markus thought it might be safe. He laid his cheek on Simon's head. "You don't like yourself enough," he said. "But I like you enough for the both of us."

Simon laughed, a pure machine sound. "Maybe I'm wrong," he said. "Maybe you're more of a duck than a cat."

The bus stopped in Southwest Detroit. Markus let Simon off first. He led him down the street, bewildered.

"How am I a duck now?" Markus asked.

Simon shrugged, smiling. "You fell into Jericho and imprinted on the first living thing you saw."

Markus wondered how it was possible to love someone, and also want to kick them.

Markus opened the door to the consignment shop. A bell chimed above them as they stepped inside. The coffee-colored walls were decorated with fairy lights. The clerk, a heavyset human woman, looked up from the front desk. She looked again. Markus knew exactly what she was thinking. She craned forward as far as the desk allowed, doubting her own eyes.

Markus towed Simon to the front desk. "If you don't tell anyone we're here, we'll pay list price for everything we buy."

The woman gaped at him. "Oh my God."

"Please?" Markus asked.

Her shaky hands dug her phone out of her purse. "Can I take a picture with the two of you? Just to show my husband later?"

Markus didn't much want to. He looked at Simon, who was smiling sheepishly.

"What's the harm?" Simon asked.

Markus felt warm, then resolute. "Let's do it."

The three of them crowded behind the front desk. It was an awkward fit. Simon had to stoop to make it work. The clerk took four photos of them together. Markus thought of this morning's photography session, how different that had been from this.

The clerk tucked her phone away, beaming. "Y'all are so beautiful! Good gracious, I think I might cry!"

"Well, we don't want that," Simon said mildly.

He led Markus to the display racks, holding his hand. He looked through the hangers. Markus ought to have done the same. He was preoccupied with the shape of Simon's hand, the heat coming from his skin.

Markus crowded close to him. "Do you still overheat when I touch you?"

Simon browsed the pants, critical. He looked up, smiling sweetly.

"A little," he said. "Except it doesn't bother me anymore."

They went in the dressing rooms and came out separately. Markus had changed into dark jeans and a gray shirt, isometric patterns across the front. Simon was wearing ugly pink pants and a snug black sweater. "Happy Halloween!" read a schizophrenic array of jack-o-lanterns and candy corn.

Markus had never been more certain that he was in love.

They paid for their clothes, along with an umbrella. The clerk progressed to crying real tears.

Simon looked at her, alarmed. "Please don't do that. Are you okay?"

The clerk fanned her eyes. "Hoo! Get out of here before y'all ruin my mascara!"

Markus and Simon stepped out the door. Markus raised the umbrella over their heads. The umbrella might prove useful camouflage, Markus thought.

"Okay," Simon said patiently. "Where are we going?"

They walked to the train station, a shabby gray place smelling of mildew. They boarded the DPM headed inbound. The train doors slid shut with a metallic ding. Markus and Simon sat down. Markus stashed the wet umbrella under their seats.

"Markus?" Simon prompted.

Markus shrugged. "Aren't I allowed some surprises?"

Simon looked at him. "After today, I think no."

"You don't want to go home yet," Markus said. "This was the first thing that came to mind. Just bear with me."

They got off the train downtown. They walked closely together under the umbrella, the city streets winding in sleek, mirrored puddles.

Simon said, "I have a confession to make."

Markus butted their heads together gently. "What?"

Simon said, "I like the way the rain feels when it's coming down. But I like being with you under the umbrella, too."

They went through an alley and out the other side. Markus saw Simon glance up with recognition. It was the back entrance to the Detroit Ballet.

Markus explained, "They forgot to rescind my credentials after we went that one time. I checked the schedule. I think we're in time for Act Four. Do you want to see if it ends differently this time?"

Simon's eyes filled with eager light. He nodded fast.

They sneaked in through the back door, making it backstage. They navigated through unused props and over to the curtains. Markus peeked out at the stage. He stepped back so Simon could take his place. Some forty girls dressed as swans were whirling around the principal dancer.

"Oh," Simon said. "It really is the very end."

Markus didn't need to see. The main thing was that Simon saw. Markus watched Simon's face. His eyes were rapt, though he had seen this part before. He clung fast to the curtain folds. Markus couldn't understand how everything he did, every nuance, was precious. Markus could have run system diagnostics on all eight of his processors. He still wouldn't have found the directive that made Simon so indisputably necessary.

Simon pulled back from the curtain. His eyes were wide with scandal.

"They killed themselves again," he said.

Markus couldn't help himself. He had never seen a more wounded look. He burst out laughing.

"Markus!"

Markus clutched his trembling stomach. He hastily turned his vocoder down. "You--you look so betrayed--"

"Hey, who's back here?"

The voice came from the dressing room. Markus and Simon looked at each other. Fright was written on Simon's face. Markus grinned roguishly.

He grabbed Simon's hand. He dashed madly for the exit.

They were laughing when they ran, echoing off the alley walls. Markus wove directionlessly through the streets. He realized too late that he had dropped their umbrella. He darted in the parking garage off Ferry Street. It was dark inside, save for gray sunlight, leaking through the gaps in the concrete tiers. Markus leaned against the wall beside the elevator. He wrung out his shirt.

"Sorry," he said. "We're going to have to wait it out until we dry off again."

A look from Simon stopped Markus in his tracks. Simon was gazing at him like he was made of magic.

Markus grinned bashfully. "What?"

"Nothing," Simon said. "I don't have to pretend I'm not looking anymore."

Markus swallowed, wondering again why he had that feature. He didn't think it was necessary for thirium intake. Maybe he was wrong.

"Come here," Markus said, reaching for him greedily. "Please."

Simon went to him. Markus folded him into his arms. He pressed his face against Simon's shoulder.

Simon touched his back. "Markus..."

Markus kissed his shoulder through his shirt. He kissed his collar, the front of his throat.

Simon trembled against him. He stammered his name, clutching his arms.

Markus licked at Simon's lips. He delved in for a soft kiss, exploratory. Simon sighed into Markus' mouth. His fingers got caught in Markus' shirt.

Markus sucked on Simon's lower lip. "If I can make you overheat," he said, "you'll dry the both of us in no time."

Slowly, Simon pulled away, disoriented.

"That's," Simon began. "That's taking advantage, I think."

Simon licked his lips. Markus wondered if Simon could taste him there.

Markus tried it for himself. His tongue followed Simon's on the same path. Their tongues tangled together, frantic, Simon throwing his arms around Markus, Markus' back colliding with the elevator wall. Markus thought it a waste of resources, their being two separate units. The people who had built them ought to have made them one. Then Markus would always be inside of Simon. Markus would always be touching him.

Outside the garage, the rain slowed down, misty and fine. Simon hid his face under Markus' jaw, burning him. Simon and Markus were both dry.

Markus led Simon outside by the hand. He looked around.

"It's two o'clock," Simon announced. "The wedding's over. I wonder if anyone went to the reception."

Markus brought their hands to his mouth. He kissed inside Simon's wrist. "I hope those girls are happy."

He had a thought. "Simon-- _can_ you taste anything?"

Simon looked at Markus, curious. "It's one of my functions. I was supposed to be a household model. I would have needed to know if a recipe was coming out right."

"Good," Markus said. "I can taste things, too. Mostly for the purpose of identifying different medicines. There's something I want you to taste."

Simon said, "Is this where you hand me an aspirin?"

"Come on," Markus said, tugging on both of his hands.

They walked all the way to Ravendale, chatting, of all things, about _1,001 Nights_. Simon was very excited, because he had finished the tale of Prince Camaralzaman and Princess Badoura.

"The prince won't get married," Simon explained. "His father the king doesn't like that. He locks him in a tower with only books and snacks, and the prince says, 'Where's the punishment?'"

"Nice," Markus said.

Simon said, "I think I wouldn't mind a life of only plants and books. But after a while, I'd start to feel unproductive."

"Not me," Markus said. "If I've got books and a piano, I'm okay with being useless."

Markus opened the door to a dingy brown diner, the past generation's final ode to Americana. A man in a booth read the newspaper on his tablet. An android in a pink skirt played with the pie displays behind the counter.

Markus said, "Carl likes the food here. He used to send me on errands to pick it up. Well, that was before I changed his dietary regimen."

Markus and Simon walked up to the counter. The android spun around to face them. Her mouth fell open, her LED glaring yellow.

 _Please_ , Markus sent wirelessly. _Don't make a big fuss. I just want to place an order._

 _You're_ _him_ , she sent back. _YOU'RE HIM! MY ROOMMATE TOUCHED YOU ONCE! Do you remember TW400 #803 881 572?_

Markus gave her his order, humorless. The android backed into the kitchen. She faced Markus the whole time, gawking.

Simon sat at the counter, chuckling. "Imagine what she'd say if she knew you really just wanted to live in a tower with books and a piano."

"And you," Markus said unthinkingly. He sat beside him.

Simon ducked his head, pretty and shy. He folded his hands on the counter.

The waitress came back with a bowl of chocolate ice cream. Markus reached for the spoon. The waitress stared openly at him.

"Thank you," Markus said pointedly.

The waitress squawked, zipping into the kitchen.

Markus filled the spoon and held it out. "You're going to love this. I'm pretty sure it's the best thing ever."

Simon planted a hand on Markus' knee. He leaned over, licking the spoon. Markus' thirium pump picked up at the proximity.

Simon leaned back, looking pleased. "It's very sweet."

Markus licked it, too. "Isn't it?"

Simon moved closer for more. "Markus, what should I read next?"

Markus fed him the spoon. "Well, which story do you like best in _1,001 Nights?_ Ali Baba reminds me a lot of _Water Margin_ , although that's a Chinese--"

Markus drew off. Simon was staring at him wryly.

"I thought you didn't read _1,001 Nights_ ," Simon said.

Markus put the spoon down, scratching his cheek. "I liked listening to you talk about it. I didn't want to interrupt."

They talked until the ice cream had melted to slush. Markus made Simon stammer by licking the residue off his fingers. An android dropped down on the seat beside Simon. Another sat with the first, whispering in his ear. Markus looked around. Twelve different androids had filled the diner. Some were communicating wirelessly, LEDs blinking in overtime.

Markus took Simon's hand. "I think that girl might have contacted her friends."

Simon slipped off his stool. "Please let's go, before the reporters get here."

Markus hastily paid the bill. Simon was the one to lead him out the door this time.

The sun spilled angry light on the asphalt. The sidewalk glittered where its flaws lit up. Old chewing gum shone blue and purple.

Simon said numbly, "It's almost six. We might as well go home."

Markus kneaded his back. "Are you still nervous about facing everybody?"

Facing his own death hadn't made Simon nervous. Markus found humor in Simon's priorities.

"I don't know why," Simon said. "I feel as if I've let everyone down." He looked at Markus. "That's not getting into all the politicians we've upset today. The king of Swaziland flew eight thousand miles to see us."

Markus said, "The king of Swaziland's going to be fine."

"What about the senators who showed up?" Simon asked. "They'll say you played them for a fool. Not to mention the reporters, and anyone in Michigan who pays taxes."

Markus said, "I don't care, Simon. I'll tell them exactly what happened. You don't like crowds. You were more important."

"Don't make it all my fault," Simon joked.

Markus stepped closer, Simon backing up. Markus backed him against the outside of the nearest building.

"It _is_ your fault," Markus said. "All of it's your fault, Simon."

Simon looked at him with wide eyes. "What did I do?"

Markus said, "You kissed my forehead, on the roof of New Jericho. You started all of this."

Simon brought his hands up to hold Markus' jaw. "Markus..."

Markus inclined his head with want. "I can't stop anymore," he said. "It's your fault, Simon."

He closed the distance, their eyes locked together. He felt Simon's eyelashes beating against his face.

"What the _hell_ are you two numbskulls doing out here?"

Markus sprang back as if struck. Hank Anderson was squinting at them from the building's doorway.

He hadn't even noticed they were outside DPD Central.

"Hello," Markus said uselessly.

Simon scuffed at the ground, staring at his shoes.

Hank growled at them. "Get in here, will you? You've got the whole damn department out looking for you. I'm only sitting on my ass because Jeffrey gave me desk duty."

He led them inside like a harrowed schoolmaster. Markus didn't have the heart to feel remorseful. The front desk was empty, most likely a first. Markus winced at the silenced TV on the wall. The picture displayed the WR400s, holding hands in front of the memorial fountain. It cut away to a moving image of Markus during an interview.

The bullpen was a ghost town. Only two other cops were at their desks. Hank dumped himself in his chair. Markus looked sideways at Simon, worried, given his past. Hank probably couldn't tell Simon from another PL600. It was Simon's comfort that concerned him.

"Nice shirt," Hank snorted, glancing at Simon.

"Thank you," Simon said politely.

Markus wanted to kiss him against the wall.

Hank put a pen in the mug on his desk. Markus hadn't seen a working pen in a very long time.

"Right," Hank said. "Mind telling me why you trolled the entire planet today?"

Markus rattled off, "Simon doesn't like crowds."

Hank sighed. "And you two couldn't figure that out _before_ committing to the most public wedding possible?"

Markus took Simon's hand, feeling the ring on his finger. "We were still working out the kinks."

Simon looked adoringly at Markus. Markus lost access to his tertiary processes.

Hank rubbed his forehead. "Jesus. Alright. I'm gonna catch flak for this, but it's for the good of androidkind. Let's marry the two of you and send you on your way."

Markus stared at Hank. Of course, he didn't know the wedding had started as a ruse. He thought the two of them had been in love this whole time.

After today, Markus wondered if that wasn't true.

Hank stood up, his joints popping. He rubbed his back with a bear paw of a hand.

"Tina!" he yelled. "Gavin! Get over here!"

A woman with tired brown eyes sauntered over to Hank's desk. She was followed closely by a sneering man who looked as if he had lockjaw.

Hank pointed his finger at the man, harrowed. "I hear a fucking word from you, Jeffrey's transferring you back to Rosedale."

Gavin opened his mouth to speak. Tina covered it.

"Right," Hank said. "We've got our witnesses, so let's get this show on the road."

Markus glanced hurriedly in Simon's direction. Wasn't this the part where they interrupted Hank?

Simon seemed to have gone selectively deaf. He was staring at the ceiling like he'd never seen one before.

Hank cleared his throat. "Face each other," he said. "Hold hands."

Markus hesitated. He turned to Simon, waiting to see what he would do.

Simon turned in Markus' direction. His eyes were on the floor, until he raised them slowly. He smiled shyly. He offered his hands like he was afraid of them.

Someone let loose a thousand fluttering moths in Markus' chest compartment.

Markus took Simon's hands. His thumbs ran over the backs of them. Hank said a few words about the legally binding nature of the ceremony.

"Markus," Hank said. "Do you take Si--"

"Yes."

Hank glared at him. "Fucking let me finish."

Markus felt chastened.

Hank started from the beginning. "Do you, Markus, take Simon to be your husband? Will you love him, honor him, support--"

"Yes."

Hank looked like he was ready to break something. Tina snickered behind her hand.

Hank rounded on Simon, irate. "And you? Since you both seem to know the script so damn well?"

Simon smiled carefully at Markus. "If he really wants me...then, me, too."

How could Markus not want Simon? He was ready to interject when Hank powered on.

"Alright," he said. "Then by the power vested in me by the state of Michigan, and some guy in the municipal office, I now pronounce you husband and husband. Go kiss, or whatever it is androids do."

Gavin gagged out loud. Hank yelled at him, Tina taking out her phone. Markus looked hopefully at Simon.

Markus swore Simon would have blushed if he were capable. "Should we kiss?" Simon asked. "Since we spent all that time practicing?"

"Yeah," Markus said firmly. "Yeah, we can't let it go to waste."

Markus raised a hand, running his fingers through Simon's downy hair. Simon's eyelids lowered partway.

"If you get any prettier," Markus said.

"I'm not sure how I would do that," Simon said.

Markus kissed him: slow to start with, then ravenous. Simon put his elbows on Markus' shoulders. His arms came around his neck. Markus hoisted him up by his bottom. Simon's long legs dangled down the backs of his thighs.

"For fuck's sake!" Hank yelled. "I said kiss, not eat each other!"

Markus swore he didn't know the difference. He wanted Simon so badly, his very synapses ached. No one had warned him about this. No one had told him that once he had the thing he desired, he would go on craving it as if it were still beyond him.

*

It was nighttime when Simon and Markus took to Camden Street.

"Well," Markus reasoned. "We would have gotten married today, anyway."

Simon hummed his agreement. "We already had a marriage license. It would've been a waste not to use it."

"Yeah," Markus said. "Yeah, that's just conservative economics."

Markus didn't know where Simon was taking him. They passed underneath train tracks. Simon stopped when they were in front of a motel.

Simon said, "I really don't want to face anyone tonight. Tomorrow...I know tomorrow will be difficult. For now, can we stay here?"

Markus said, "We can do anything you want."

They went in the manager's office and paid the clerk, a near-sighted man with a gray beard. They went back to the parking lot, climbing the stairwell to the second floor balcony. Markus unlocked their door. They went inside a room with bare wooden walls and a paisley carpet.

Simon sat down on the bed. "I'm so tired. I think I've done more today than I did in the first two years of my life."

Markus crouched on the floor. He tugged Simon's shoes off his feet. He crawled on the bed, spreading out beside him.

"Cradle robber," Markus mumbled sleepily.

Simon shifted on his side. He winced visibly when he hit his shoulder the wrong way. He smiled again, stroking Markus' chest through his shirt.

Markus rubbed his face on Simon's neck. "I love you."

Simon undid the buttons on Markus' gray shirt. Markus felt cool air on his skin when Simon pushed the shirt away.

"Okay, Markus," Simon said.

At least this time, Markus was sure that Simon believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super touched at the reception this fic has gotten. I started writing it only because I wanted to write trash, and because I was in desperate need of a fic where Markus is the pining, hopeless one. I'm very grateful to you all for sticking it out.
> 
> Fun fact: Hart Plaza is where Detroit hosts its annual Pride event
> 
> Also Simon's face [when Markus starts singing](https://i.imgur.com/DSIPJXh.jpg) during the peaceful protest is just about the most precious thing


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus and Simon go on their honeymoon. Markus learns a new technique.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kara and Luther are a couple in this universe. Not tagging it bc it's not focal, and I don't want to clog up their tag like a jerk.
> 
> Please heed the warning for robo smut, if that's a thing that bothers you. It'll be very obvious when it pops up, so you can skip it if needed.

It was one in the morning when Markus came online. His programs restarted in tandem. He booted up his OS, cycling through his RAM. He had successfully freed up 360 terabytes of memory.

He shifted on his side, facing Simon in the dark. Simon needed three more hours of stasis to achieve a similar level of performance. Markus observed him, uninhibited. Simon lay immobile on his side. He resembled a statue more than a sleeping human. He had stripped himself and Markus of their shirts before bed. Markus placed a hand over Simon's chest. Simon's thirium pump thrummed quietly under Markus' palm.

The events of the prior day came back to Markus. He ran his thumb over Simon's chest. Markus' very core was crackling with energy.

"Simon," Markus whispered.

Simon didn't stir. Standby meant that the farther along he was, the fewer stimuli he responded to.

Markus pressed the spot on Simon's temple where his LED used to be. Simon's eyes opened in a rapid flutter.

Simon shifted on his back. The bed sheets crinkled beneath him. "Markus?"

Markus draped himself across Simon. He folded his hands on Simon's chest, his chin on his knuckles. He smiled mischievously.

"I'm your husband," Markus said.

Markus saw Simon's eyes adjusting to the dark. They slid together with Markus'.

"You still love me?" Simon asked.

Markus laughed, dumbfounded. "Yes? Of course I do. Did you think it would only last until the next RAM reset?"

Simon brought a tentative hand to Markus' back. Skittishly, he touched bare skin. "Sort of."

Markus didn't know what to say.

Simon carefully stroked the artificial curve of Markus' spine. "There were times when I'd go away for a while--to the clinic, or the one in New York--and the distance would give me clarity. I'd think, 'I'm fine without Markus. I must not really love him.' But then..."

Simon's skin felt warmer by the second. His fingers danced between Markus' shoulderblades. His sleepy face was reverent.

"But then I'd come back to New Jericho," Simon said. "And the minute I saw you, I'd fall in love again."

Markus nestled closer, spellbound. He ran his fingertips under Simon's eyes.

Simon sighed between them. He turned his face into the cradle of Markus' hand. He kissed his palm lines.

"You love me," Markus said.

Simon kissed his fingers. "Did you ever notice we have the same thirium pump model?"

Markus shook his head. He pressed a retaliatory kiss to Simon's chest.

Simon ran his hands over Markus' back. "I noticed it during the demonstration. I thought it was funny even then. Our models are as different as can be, but for whatever reason, they built you using the same heart as me."

"Maybe because it's a good heart," Markus opined. He laid an open-mouthed kiss over Simon's chest.

Simon shivered. He brought his hands up, tracing Markus' scalp.

Markus sucked at the taut skin of Simon's chest. He looked up to find Simon's eyes hazy and unfocused.

"Simon," Markus said. "You realize what this means?"

Simon shook his head. "W-What?"

"Our hearts were probably sitting in the same factory, long before we were built. Maybe even on the same shelf."

Markus straddled Simon's hips, sitting up. "I told you," he said. "I told you I knew you before I met you."

Simon's eyes were blown wide. He looked up at Markus like a starved man. He ran his hands up Markus' front, smoothing over freckled skin.

Slow rain pattered on the dark window. Markus' ears filled with white noise.

Markus leaned down for a long kiss. Simon breathed harshly into Markus' mouth. Markus lowered himself so their stomachs, their chests pressed together. He couldn't bear not to touch Simon. Any part of him that wasn't touching Simon was irrelevant.

Simon stroked the sides of Markus' face. He pressed their foreheads together.

"Markus?" Simon murmured. Their lips caught.

Markus kissed his bottom lip. "Mm?"

Simon petted Markus' temples, his cheeks. "We can't--"

He sighed at the touch of Markus' tongue. Markus licked inside. Simon settled around the intrusion, moaning softly. Markus drew his knees in, caging Simon's hips.

Simon put his hands on Markus' chest. He craned his neck back, trying to speak. Markus kissed his snowy throat, unrelenting.

"Markus!"

Simon's laughter was bright and beautiful. Markus smiled, tucking his head under Simon's chin.

Simon's arms came around him. "Markus, we have a lot of people to answer to today. I don't much want to, but...I think we'd better check the Android Wireless."

Markus pulled back, his hands on Simon's shoulders. He smiled down at him.

"How about I take care of that?" Markus asked. "You get more sleep. I didn't mean to wake you. I just missed you."

Simon reached up, cradling Markus' face with one hand. His eyes were tremulous, full of some unknown emotion.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just didn't know anyone could feel this happy."

Markus caught both of Simon's hands. He kissed them from heel to fingertip. He rubbed them between his own.

"Go to sleep," Markus said. "Don't worry. I'll still love you the next time you wake up."

  
*

  
Markus laid his head on Simon's chest. He reluctantly logged into his e-mail.

_You have 1,036 unread letters!_

Markus filtered by priority contacts. He groaned against Simon's chest.

 _holy shit dude_ , Leo had written. _you are my personal role model. i aspire to piss off as many diplomats as you just have!_

Josh's was much less personal, but also somehow morose. _Please write me ASAP so we can at least attempt damage control._

Carl's message was the shortest of all. All he had written was: _Call me when you see this._

Markus considered. One in the morning wasn't a polite time to call anybody. On the other hand, Carl's medicine often made him sleepy midday, but wide awake in the early hours.

Markus thought: If Carl was sleeping, his phone was on silent. Markus could leave him a message.

His mind made up, Markus patched through the phonecall. Carl answered on the second ring.

"Oh, good," said Carl's voice in Markus' head. "You're not lying dead in a ditch somewhere."

Markus threw his arm around Simon's waist. He internalized his audio output, fearful of waking him.

He said, _Simon doesn't like crowds._

"I see," Carl returned. Markus heard the smile in Carl's voice. "Is Simon with you right now?"

Markus took a photo with his optics. He sent it through their connection.

"In the future," Carl said, "a simple yes will suffice."

 _He loves me, Carl_ , Markus said. _Can you believe it?_

"I certainly hoped," Carl said. "I thought there might be a good chance. You have my congratulations."

 _He's amazing, Carl._ Markus looked up the length of Simon's body, drinking in his long torso, his broad shoulders _. What do I do now? I don't know how to be a good husband._

"Slow down," Carl said. "I think I missed something."

Markus explained from the beginning how they had wound up at DPD Central, where Hank Anderson officiated. In the end, Carl laughed, incredulous.

"Do you have any idea what a character you are?" Carl's laughter tapered into a pleasant sigh. "That's terrific news," he said. "Especially for me. It means I don't have to fight with the airline for a refund."

 _Airline?_ Markus asked, puzzled. _Where are you going?_

Carl said, "I'm not going anywhere. The two of you are going on your honeymoon. Consider it my wedding gift to you."

Markus didn't know what to say.

 _Dad...that's very generous,_ Markus said, _but I don't know about this. People are angry right now. I should probably stay home and prepare a statement._

Carl tsked at him. "What good is a publicist if you're doing all his work? Have Josh take care of the specifics. You've been on a public stage for three months. I think you can afford a week's vacation."

_A week? Carl--_

"Of course," Carl said, "you'll need to come back to the house to pick up some clothes. Leo has a present for you as well."

Markus knew Leo well enough now to be worried.

 _Dad_ , Markus said. _Thank you. I can't believe this._

"Oh, you can believe it," Carl said smoothly. "And you can get your butts back here before eight. You have no idea what a pain it is to reschedule flights. Something to do with a certain domestic security crisis nine months ago..."

  
*

  
Markus spent the next three hours managing New Jericho's affairs. He moved around meetings with former CyberLife investors. He was dreading his next video conference with the president. Cristina was bound to have a comment about the wedding. Markus felt under a continual lens of scrutiny, no matter what he did to save face. Fail to show enough gratitude, and critics labeled him an incendiary. Ask for basic decencies, and the gatekeepers accused him of expecting handouts. It was a tiresome juggling act, a catty political game designed to keep him too busy to make progress.

Simon came out of stasis at four in the morning. Markus felt his grievances give way to a blanket of security.

Simon's fingers grazed the brown fuzz of Markus' hair. "Have you been down there this whole time?"

Markus rubbed his cheek on Simon's chest. "Maybe?"

Simon sat up against the headboard. Markus moved with him, transfixed.

Markus told him about his conversation with Carl.

Simon touched Markus' mouth. His eyes were very wide, making Markus think he looked scandalized.

Markus smothered his laugh. He kissed Simon's fingers in a slow caress.

"I don't know," Simon said, lowering his hand. "Do we really need a honeymoon? Besides, I like Detroit. We don't have to leave it."

Markus remembered a past argument. "Simon--that job in New York. Do you want to take it? Because you'd be great at it. Anywhere you want to go, we'll go."

Simon touched the dimple under Markus' lip, the curve of his nose. He seemed to revel in this newfound ability, his freedom to touch Markus anywhere he pleased.

Simon smiled sheepishly. "Can I say something selfish?"

"I'm not sure you can," Markus said. "But go ahead and try."

Simon traced the shell of Markus' ear. "Volunteering is fun because it's not work. If it became work, I don't think it would be fun anymore."

Markus took hold of Simon's hand. He lined up their fingers, threading them together.

"That's perfectly valid," Markus said. "But Simon...why did you say you would go, then? You even made plans to fly back to Detroit for public appearances."

Simon lowered his bashful eyes. "Didn't I just tell you? Whenever I was away from you, I could pretend I didn't love you."

Markus took Simon's chin with his free hand. He lifted Simon's gaze, bemused. "Whenever I'm away from you, I just think about how much I wish you were with me."

Simon sucked in a slow breath. "Markus..."

Markus crowded close to him. He brought their brows together, the tips of their noses.

"I don't know, Simon," Markus said. "I don't know how you can stand it. Sometimes I can't stand not thinking about you."

Simon's breath turned shaky. "I lived five whole years without you, Markus. I suppose I've had time to get used to it."

Markus climbed astride his legs. "I had to partition a new drive just to hold you. It's got 885 images, 451 soundbites. There's one I play before I go into standby. It was the way you laughed at the Fourth of July party. I didn't know, Simon. I didn't know anything could sound like that."

"Markus..."

"You're my favorite sound in the world. You're my favorite thing to look at."

Simon's whole body was trembling. He slid his hand out of Markus'. He threw his arms around Markus' neck. Markus fell on his back with the force of his embrace. Simon brushed frantic kisses over Markus' face, the corner of his mouth, his lips in full. He kissed him like he was scared he'd never get to do it again. He was so hot on top of Markus, Markus' skin receded where they touched. Simon's ancient fans rattled noisily. Markus was in love with them. Markus was in love with each of Simon's biocomponents.

On top of Markus, Simon stopped moving. His face rested in the crook of Markus' neck. His scalding hot body slowly cooled. He must have overheated again. Markus put his arms around him. He held Simon close while he rebooted. Markus was overcome by how unspeakably precious Simon was. Markus finally understood. Simon loved him so much, his body couldn't bear it. It shut down rather than try to parse it out.

Markus pressed his face to Simon's hair. He kissed the crown of his head. He blinked to dispel tears.

  
*

  
They left the motel at four-thirty. Simon closed the door soundly, holding fast to Markus' hand. They crept down the staircase, into the parking lot. They skirted past two call girls sharing a cigarette.

The street light painted the damp sidewalk in triangles of orange light. Moths fluttered underneath it, searching for the sun. Lucien leaned against a plain black car, his hands in his pockets. He gave Markus and Simon a doleful look.

"Shame," he opined. "You shame everyone with your reckless ways."

Markus put his arm around Simon's waist, drawing him against his side. "Too bad."

They all climbed into the car. Markus sat in the back with Simon, holding his hand. Simon turned away, hiding his smile. He played with Markus' fingers.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived outside Carl's house, the neighborhood pitch black. Markus adjusted his optics. Lucien walked Markus and Simon inside, where Alastair was waiting for them, his face pinched. He was wearing a bathrobe with a sash.

"Carl went back to sleep," Alastair explained. "Or I wrestled him into bed, anyway."

Markus felt disappointed. He had wanted to see Carl before they left.

Alastair extended his hands, skin peeling back. "I've got your travel itinerary right here. Carl expects copious amounts of pictures."

Simon shifted on the spot. "May I ask where we're going?"

"There are relatively few nations left without android legislation. Carl has arranged for you to vacation on Vancouver Island. An escort will pick you up when you arrive."

Markus and Simon took his proffered hands. Markus downloaded the data packet in full.

Alastair let go, stepping back. "If that's all, I'll be in the kitchen, hiding the wedding cake. Carl took a little too much from the reception."

He slipped out of the foyer through the side door. Simon looked at Markus, nonplussed.

Markus shrugged. "We should go pack our bags, I think."

They took the stairs as soundly as possible. Markus opened their bedroom door, but Simon stopped them.

"The plants," Simon said, distressed. "Who's going to water them?"

Markus was afraid if he went on loving Simon this much, he would run out of memory for any other tasks.

Markus picked up Simon's hands, kissing his knuckles. "How about I leave a note for Leo? Would that make you feel better?"

Simon nodded, smiling sweetly.

Really, Markus thought, he had no choice but to kiss him.

He was making thorough exploration of Simon's mouth when he heard the upstairs toilet flush. Leo stumbled out of the bathroom. He squinted blearily at Markus and Simon.

"I'm not sure if you're really here or not," he said. "But if you are, I've got your present in my room."

"That's alright," Markus began.

"Nah," Leo said. "C'mon. Every newlywed couple needs a house pet."

Leo led them to his bedroom. An acoustic guitar hung on the wall. Leo started to say something, but face-vaulted on the bed. He snored loudly.

Simon knelt on the floor. "I don't understand...did Leo mean to give this to us?"

Markus walked over to him, crouching down. On the floor was a brand new Roomba, a red ribbon on top.

"We're androids," Simon said. "We don't exactly make a lot of garbage... And how is this a house pet?"

"Forget it," Markus said. "It's Leo. Even on his best days, he's pretty strange."

He picked up the Roomba. "Can I name him Gershwin?"

Simon smiled into the collar of his shirt. "Is strangeness a family trait?"

They went back to their room, gathering their clothes for the week. Simon jammed as many sweaters as he could in his suitcase. Markus reasoned that it might be hot where they were going. Simon reassured him that he would turn down his sensitivity.

"Well," Markus said, "if that's the lifestyle you choose."

They went downstairs and told Lucien they were ready.

Lucien sighed loudly. "See how I fall in the world, when once I rose so high!"

"Please stop," Markus said. "You're already salaried."

They took to the street, packing their luggage in the car. Lucien drove them down East Jefferson Avenue. They took the exit to the Lodge Freeway. The highway was empty, wide open. Simon leaned against the window, staring at the curved road.

Markus ran his fingers through the back of Simon's hair. "You've never been to the Detroit Metro Airport before."

He had seen all of Simon's memories, some in higher definition than others.

Simon shook his head, turning to face him. "I drove to New York when I visited. I didn't want to deal with the crowd."

"Considering how early it is," Markus said, "I don't think that'll be a problem."

Some forty minutes later, they had arrived. Lucien left the car in the parking lot, walking them in the airport. He left them at the McNamara Terminal.

Markus saw the change come over Simon's face. Simon looked in awe at the big white concourse, the dozens of stores and restaurants surrounding the floor. He took Markus' hand, walking over to the water fountain. Jets of water leapt one at a time from the spouts. They looked like fish diving upstream.

Simon said, "Do you think androids can make anything like this?"

Markus thought back to something Carl once said.

He said, "Anyone who wants to improve on reality can make art. That's what I think."

Simon leaned into Markus' space, leaving a slow kiss on his lips. Markus held both of his hands. Simon's growing confidence was highly addictive.

At 6:02, they boarded their plane, the first smears of watery light running midnight blue on the horizon. The rest of the coach was empty.

Simon took his seat. "Did your father book the entire plane?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Markus said. He paused. "Can I have the window seat?"

Simon looked up, his smile unassuming. He traded spots with Markus.

Markus didn't like Simon in conjunction with heights, no matter how safe the mode of travel.

They settled down for a five hour flight. Simon wanted to watch horror movies. Markus obliged. They held hands, interfacing to share the video file.

"This movie is very scary," Simon said. "You hear the ringtone, and then you die."

Markus looked at him. "If you're scared, why are we watching it?"

"It's only make believe," Simon said. "You don't have to worry, Markus."

Markus gave him a confused look. "I'm not--"

"Besides," Simon said. "I don't think we can get phonecalls at this altitude."

Simon's smile was subtle at the corners. Markus realized he was being teased.

Markus put on a sigh. "You're a very bad husband."

They landed at Seattle-Tacoma International and changed flights. The second plane was more populous. Restless children wailed in economy class. Markus and Simon sat surrounded by businessmen. Markus held hands with Simon, interfacing a second time. He used their link to see through Simon's eyes. Markus liked the way Simon saw the world, a kaleidoscope of disparate colors. His eyes made the light dance around the cabin, made the windows look like pages from a pop-up book. Markus laid his head on Simon's shoulder. He spent the hour inhabiting their private world.

They got off the plane at the Comox Valley Airport. Markus updated his clock to local time. It was noon back home, but nine in the morning here.

Simon grabbed their luggage off the baggage claim carousel. "Does anyone here look like they're supposed to be escorting us?"

Markus scanned the crowd, at a loss. He started at an incoming wireless request.

_Hello, Markus. Long time, no see, huh?_

Markus spotted a big TR400 wearing fingerless gloves. Markus scanned his dermal layer, recognizing his serial number.

"Simon," Markus said. "That android was with us in Jericho, toward the end."

Luther dove through the crowd, waving at them. Markus took up Simon's hand.

"He was?" Simon asked. "I don't recognize him at all."

"It was very brief," Markus said. "He and two others came through looking for passports. They wanted to move to Canada."

Markus felt himself smiling. "I guess they made it."

Luther drew in earshot of them. He clapped them on their shoulders.

"Alright, you two?" he asked warmly. "You have no idea how excited Alice is that you're staying at our inn."

"You own an inn?" Markus asked, pleased for them.

Luther swung his arms. "We're on our fourth month of operating. Got a call from your travel agent, and the minute we heard the name 'Manfred,' let me tell you, Kara's ears perked right up."

"How's she doing?" Markus asked.

Luther took their bags without asking. He led them through the colorful throng.

"Doing great," Luther said cheerfully. "Guess you'll see for yourself in a minute, won't you?"

He took them outside the airport. A Jeep without a hood was waiting by the curb. Luther put their bags in the trunk. Markus and Simon sat in the back.

They drove down Highway 19, a dense forest of pine trees following their trail. Simon sat up straight when a sliver of the ocean came in view.

"I've never seen it in person," Simon confessed.

"Me, neither," Markus said. "Maybe we can visit the shore later?"

Luther parked at the bottom of a rocky cliff. They climbed up the hillside to a cozy, two-story cabin. Hens clucked noisily in the front enclosure. Markus turned around, taking in the ocean vista. Raw, royal blue, it licked the cloudless horizon. The sky dipped down to meet it, making one seamless quilt.

Luther led Markus and Simon inside the rustic lobby. A cuckoo clock was hanging on the wall. A few of the wooden pillars still bore leafy branches. One giant window looked out on a vegetable garden.

"Uncle Markus!"

A little girl zipped out from behind the counter. She barreled into Markus' arms, ponytail swinging.

Markus dropped his luggage, hugging her. "Look at you!" he laughed.

Alice pulled back in his embrace. She beamed up at Markus. "Did Dad tell you I'm starting school next month? Did he?"

Markus feigned shock. "He didn't mention it. Maybe he didn't want to make me jealous?"

Alice leaned around Markus, pouting at Luther. "You didn't even tell him about my school project?"

Luther one-handedly hauled the luggage on the counter. "You worked so hard on it. Why take away all your fun?"

Alice spent the next five minutes telling Markus about her shoebox diorama. Markus noticed Simon standing off to the side, looking awkward. He reached back for Simon's hand. Simon startled, looking up.

Markus ran his thumb over Simon's knuckles. "This is Simon, my husband. Simon, this is Alice."

Simon smiled meekly. "Hello."

Alice peered up at him. "You're taller than Uncle Markus."

Markus felt wounded. "It's only an inch. Maybe two. Actually, it might be his shoes."

Alice gave Markus a dubious look.

Kara came bustling out of the back room. Her snowy white hair was cut boyishly short. She planted her hands on her hips, grinning.

Before Markus could hug her, Simon started forward. He dropped his hand from Markus' grip.

"Kara?"

Kara looked at him quizzically from across the counter. "Sorry? I don't think I know you."

Markus looked between the two. Something dire had come over Simon's face.

"You don't--" Simon restarted. "Three years ago? The basement?"

Markus remembered now: Simon was standing on a sidewalk. He grabbed another android by her shoulder. She smiled at him blankly. She didn't seem to understand that they needed to run--

Luther cleared his throat. "Kara's had a lot of memory resets. At least two that we know of."

Kara tilted her head. She reached across the counter with a bone-white hand.

Simon gave her his hand. His skin drizzled away. Their sensors glowed with blue incandescence.

It took 3.7 seconds for Kara to come around the counter. She wrapped her arms around Simon, holding him tight. Simon locked his arms behind her back. His head came down on her shoulder.

"Ah," Luther said mournfully.

Alice tugged on Markus' hand. "What are Mom and Uncle Simon doing?"

Markus bent down to whisper in her ear. "Just catching up on old times."

Alice looked concerned.

"Don't worry," Markus said. "It's grownup stuff. You know how silly we can be."

  
*

  
Markus and Simon dragged their luggage up to their room. Blond walls surrounded the stuffed bed. Markus threw open the shutters on the window. Outside was the ocean, plunging and sapphirine. The sharp scent of salt was clean on the air.

Simon came up behind Markus. He put his arms around his waist, his chin on his shoulder.

"Hello," Markus said warmly.

Simon's arms tightened. "I don't know if this will make any sense," he began. "But I've felt adrift since Lucy died."

Markus put his hands over Simon's. "Of course it makes sense."

"It's not the same," Simon went on. "But seeing that someone else escaped that house--even if she was resold and reset..."

Markus turned his head, kissing Simon's neck.

"I get it," Markus said. "Lucy and Kara both knew you before Jericho."

Simon slipped his hands under Markus' shirt. His fingers brushed his stomach. Markus felt weak.

Simon ducked his head, smiling. "I'm not sure what we're supposed to do here."

Markus considered. "We've literally downloaded a checklist. What sounds most fun to you?"

Simon nestled his chin atop Markus' head. Markus buried his face against his neck.

Simon said, "I just want to be with you."

Markus greedily kissed his neck. "Okay."

He couldn't say how long they stood there, trading lazy, needy touches. Eventually, Simon let go of him. Markus wanted to cry out.

"Well," Simon said. "There's one thing I regret..."

Markus batted their noses together. "What's that?"

Simon smiled. "I learned to dance for nothing."

Markus returned his smile coyly. "I hate to break it to you," he said. "But you didn't, in fact, learn to dance."

It took Simon a moment to understand.

"Markus," he said, offended.

Markus laughed. He laughed so hard, he hid it behind his knuckles. It didn't work.

Simon huffed softly. "How soon is too soon to divorce?"

Markus gave him a solemn look. "I'm not letting you divorce me."

Simon smiled with his eyes. He backed up. "You're not?"

"No," Markus said, advancing on him. "Never. I'll lock you in my office in New Jericho if I have to."

Markus noticed Simon wasn't backing away very fast.

Markus took his hand. "Come on," he said. "Let's have our wedding dance."

Markus retracted his skin. Simon followed suit, beautifully pliant. Markus shared a song he had downloaded just for the occasion.

Simon looked skeptically at Markus. "Eternity Road isn't a wedding song."

"It is if I say it is," Markus insisted. "And you like it, so that's all that counts. I have to admit, it's growing on me."

"Oh?" Simon said lightly.

"It's no Einaudi," Markus said, "but it does have a certain _je ne sais quoi_."

"How open-minded of you," Simon said.

Markus led him in a gentle sway. It was as much of a disaster as their first attempt. Simon's adorable duck feet impeded his every move. Markus was secretly thrilled.

"Come on," Markus said. "Let's visit the town. I'm sure there's something to do there."

Simon laughed brightly. "My dancing is that bad?"

"Terrible," Markus said. "The absolute worst."

Simon kissed him on the forehead. "I guess I'll have time to practice when I'm locked up in your office."

  
*

  
No one was more surprised than Markus to find a Chinatown thriving in the middle of the island.

"I never knew," Markus said. "I guess this island was settled by Chinese immigrants."

They passed underneath a tall red gate, lion statues guarding it. They looked around at the cramped storefronts, Chinese lettering on the awnings.

Simon pointed at one. "I don't suppose you want to get a tattoo?"

Markus thought about it. "I wouldn't mind," he said. "But I'm pretty sure they'd disappear the next time we regenerated our skin."

They moved on to the next storefront, selling souvenirs. Simon was enthralled with a cat figurine waving its front paw.

"That would look nice in your office," he said.

Markus bought it on sheer impulse.

Markus carried the tin foil bag as they navigated narrow, cobblestone alleys.

"There's a lighthouse not far from here," Markus said, browsing the downloaded brochure. "Want to go?"

Simon smiled pleasantly. "Okay, Markus."

They trekked out to the beach with its mother-of-pearl dunes. The clouds were the color of cream and honey. They billowed sleepily on a pastel blue sky.

Simon held a hand over his optics. "It looks like a lens."

Markus sort of saw what he meant. The wide open sky was concave above their heads. It drooped at the corners, touching the earth. The ocean tumbled turbulently against its pull. The mountainous waves were a cyan fever dream. The tide rushed over the shoreline, smooth and clear as glass.

Markus saw the lighthouse on the east. It was candy-striped with a brown roof. Seagulls nested at the top.

Markus looked again at the water. "It's a safe temperature...want to go in?"

Simon looked alarmed. "I don't know."

"You like the rain," Markus reasoned. "Maybe the ocean is like rain, except it's all around you."

Simon rubbed his elbow. "I'm afraid of it getting in our biocomponents."

"Yeah," Markus agreed. "Yeah, you're probably right."

They went down to the shore to get a closer look at it. Markus stared at the water where it trickled over his feet.

Simon leaned down and splashed him in the face.

Markus sputtered. He staggered back, staring accusingly at Simon.

Simon smiled innocently. "A small amount can't hurt."

Markus grabbed a clump of wet sand. "I've got a present for you."

Simon jogged backward. "No, thank you."

Markus stalked closer. "It's a wedding present!"

"No, thank you!" Simon yelled.

Markus spent the next forty-five minutes chasing Simon around the beach. Markus caught him, but he suspected Simon let him.

They sat together on the sand, watching the tide waving across the coast. Markus took his shoes off and shook them out.

Simon said, "I heard that all the life on Earth came from the ocean. Do you think the ocean is like the humans' factory?"

Markus liked the idea. "Maybe. I always thought of hospitals that way."

"Just think," Simon said. "If Kamski hadn't given you to Carl, you might have worked in a hospital somewhere. We might never have met. The rest of us would still be hiding in Jericho."

Markus frowned. "If it wasn't me who questioned things, it would have been someone else. I was just the right person at the right time."

Simon pressed up against his side. He laid his head on his shoulder.

"Don't talk like that," Markus pleaded. "I don't like to think about never meeting you. It's too sad."

"Silly boy," Simon said.

"Not silly. You should read up about superposition and wave-particle duality. All particles exist simultaneously in every possible state. That means there's a world where I don't know you."

Simon said, "That's a little above me, Markus."

"Me, too," Markus confessed. "Carl's got some weird books in his library."

They decided to go back to the inn and clean up. They walked lazily together through Chinatown. Simon swung the tin foil bag on his wrist.

Simon said, "I know you don't want to think about this right now. But we really need to figure out what Kamski did with your memories."

Markus tapped his temple. "I've got all his files in here. According to the data log, he only accessed my memories once. So he didn't have time to do anything with them, really."

Simon frowned. "That's a little troublesome."

"If he was sick," Markus said, "and he went off his meds..."

Simon said, "You think he really did kill himself?"

"Maybe," Markus said. "I don't know. In the end, I didn't know him at all."

They arrived at the inn. They shook the sand from their shirts before they went inside. They climbed up the stairs to their bedroom. Markus shut all of his skin off, stepping out of his clothes. He fished the hydrogen peroxide out of his suitcase.

"Okay," Markus said. "I'll do you first."

He turned around. Simon had undressed and shut his skin off, too. His body was starch-white with gray plating. His scars looked sad in the sunlight. The blue tracks on his stomach, the bare blue of his palms glowed almost like jewelry.

Simon rubbed his elbow. He smiled self-consciously at the floor.

Markus made him close his eyes. He sprayed him carefully with the spray bottle. He wiped him down with a microfiber cloth. He rubbed between Simon's fingers, in the bends of his elbows. He lifted Simon's ankles, rubbing the soles of his feet.

Markus stood up when he was done. He grabbed a second cloth for himself.

He said, "How come you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen?"

Simon made a soft sound, opening his eyes. "I already know you love me, Markus. You don't have to be polite about it."

Markus wiped himself down, staring at Simon. "Didn't you say I'm not given over to lies?"

Simon paused. He looked down at his own body. He looked at Markus again, head tilted on a soft cant.

Markus put the cloths in his bag. "Kara said they're having a bonfire tonight. You want to go? If you don't like it, we can skip out early."

Simon smiled, slow and wonderful. "Okay."

"Okay?"

Simon nodded. "But it's daylight still. Do you want to go to the rainforest? The island has one."

Markus grinned. "If you want to go, I want to go. Let me just find some clean clothes."

  
*

  
Rainforests, it turned out, were eerie places. Markus and Simon hiked on a rope bridge between trees so tall, the leafy tops tinted the sky green. Hot mist rolled wetly across the grounds. The growth on the forest floor was blue-green and tangled, dripping with condensation. Birds cried jeeringly from dark hiding spaces.

Simon loved the place, as Markus had known he would. He took twenty pictures on the bridge alone. He spent five minutes staring at a frog.

By the time they were finished, they needed another change of clothes.

They went back to the inn and watched the sunset from the hilltop. Markus had never seen it like this before. It stained the ocean red with gold scales. It lit up the sky like ripe persimmons. Markus thought of Babylon's perfumed gardens.

At night, they went in the back garden. Luther was lighting the bonfire, kneeling as he struck the flint. A few of the inn's guests sat on lawn chairs. Alice brought them cookies on a tray. When she was done, she jogged over to Markus and Simon.

"Come on!" she said. "Do you want to meet my friends?"

Markus rubbed her head. "Where are they?"

She took them over to a fairy circle on the ground. Two androids and one human sat amid the ring of mushrooms.

Jerry waved his hand. "Hello, you two! Bet you didn't know one of us lives in Canada!"

Markus shook his head. "Can't say I did."

Simon smiled kindly. "You're a regular globetrotter."

The human was in his twenties, although his baby face made him look much younger.

"Wow," he said, eyes lighting up. "I've never met a celebrity before."

Alice flopped down at his side. "Adam helped me with my homework."

Adam grinned sheepishly. "So if she gets an F, she's gonna blame me."

The third of Alice's friends was a badly damaged WR600 in a purple smock. He cringed away from Markus and Simon. The whole side of his face was peeled, cracked, and burned open. One eye was milky blue, likely blind.

"That's Ralph," Alice said. "He takes care of the gardens. Well, and the chickens. But I'm supposed to do that, so don't tell Mom."

Simon crouched on the grass, his hands on his knees. "Hello, Ralph."

Ralph stared at him warily. He looked like he was trying to disappear behind Adam.

Adam reached back, patting his knee. "He's super shy, but don't let that fool you. Really, he doesn't stop talking."

Ralph indignantly squeaked a protest.

Simon said, "Can you tell me much about gardening? I like it, but I'm not very good at it."

Ralph visibly hesitated. He came back out in the open.

He said, "Maybe it's the dirt. A lot of people think all dirt's the same, but that's not true. No, it's not."

Simon engaged him in a gentle conversation. Markus looked around the garden. He spotted Kara pouring drinks at a lawn table. Excusing himself, he went over to say hello.

She put the pitcher down with a broad smile. "I had no idea I was going to see you again."

Markus found her smile infectious. He stood next to her. "I'm so glad you made it out together."

Kara said, "I don't know if I ever thanked you properly. We're only here now because of you. You know that, right?"

Markus said, "I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit. You would have found a way. You cared too much about that little girl."

Markus wondered how long it had taken her to realize that Alice was like them.

Kara dried her hands on a rag. "So," she said, grinning mischievously. "What's married life like?"

Markus found himself laughing. "Ask me again in a month."

Kara patted him on the shoulder. "That makes sense. It must be like a whirlwind right now."

Her eyes trailed over to the bonfire. Luther was unfolding his knees, standing up. Kara watched his every move.

Markus said, "Are the two of you..."

"Married?" Kara didn't seem embarrassed at having been caught. "No," she said. "We never even thought that was something we could do."

Kara said, "But you and those girls made me see otherwise. I'm going to ask him. I know he'll never make the first move, even if he wants to. He's way too meek."

Markus thought it funny that he and Kara had similar tastes.

Kara handed a lemonade to a little girl with a bow in her hair. The girl trotted back to her parents, trying not to spill it.

Kara lowered her voice. "We practically live like a married couple already. Alice calls us Mom and Dad now."

Markus smiled warmly. "I noticed."

Kara elbowed him playfully. "I love her to pieces," she said. "But it's hard waiting for her to go to sleep if we're going to do anything."

Markus tilted his head. "Do anything?"

"You know," Kara said, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. "Anything."

Markus stared at her, uncomprehending.

Dawning came to Kara's eyes. She looked over at the fairy circle, then back at Markus.

She said, "You and Simon don't make love?"

Markus' skin was burning. "We're not optimized for that."

"What do you mean?" But she seemed to understand. "Oh, no. I'm not talking about the human way. What good is that?"

Markus was sure now he didn't understand. "What other way is there?"

Kara looked left and right. She must not have wanted this overheard.

"Let me tell you how," she said. "But don't let him know I'm the one who taught you. I don't want to make things awkward tomorrow morning..."

  
*

  
The fact of the matter was, once you knew a thing, you could not unknow it. Markus now saw a very clear divide in his life. The Markus of yesterday was but an innocent babe, unspoiled by the carnal vices of the world. His was a life of dusty tomes, Debussy, and hiding in New Jericho's nursery when he wanted to avoid work.

The Markus of tonight was a changed man. His eyes had been opened to a lurid landscape of sin. There was nowhere to go but forward. He could see no way to avoid taking Simon with him.

Simon closed the shutters on their window. He pulled the sheets down on the bed.

He said, "There's a pirate museum out this way. Did you know that? It might be fun to visit tomorrow. We could take pictures for Josh."

Markus watched him, taut as a bow string. He clenched and unclenched his jaw, overthinking it.

Simon placed a tiny crochet doll on the nightstand. Its eyes were blue buttons, its hair yellow yarn.

Simon looked lovingly at the doll. "Alice gave me that. She's very talented."

Markus put a knee up on the bed. He hesitated.

Simon smiled, bemused. "Markus?"

Markus took a moment to compose himself. He was not sure how Simon would react. He wanted to know, anyway. He wanted it more than anything.

"Simon," Markus began. "Can you take your shirt off? Would that be alright?"

Simon regarded him in the lamplight. His eyes seemed to say: _Silly thing_. His fingers made easy work of the buttons. The pink cotton shirt slid down his arms.

Markus drank him in. His smooth skin was seamless, belying the scars underneath it. His neck dipped down to a convincing collarbone. Cosmetics made him indistinguishable from a human. His nipples were pale pink, his navel a gentle indent. His right shoulder sat a little higher than the left.

Simon misinterpreted Markus' intent. He took Markus' hand, placing it over his thirium pump. His accommodating smile was nonpareil.

Markus stroked Simon's heartbeat through his skin. Kara wouldn't lead him astray, he thought.

He kicked himself internally for thinking about Kara now.

Markus crawled closer on all fours. He lowered his head, in sight of Simon's nipple. His tongue touched it in a careful slide. Simon shivered, as Markus had known he would.

Markus wrapped his lips around it. He sucked.

Simon's shivering was more pronounced. "Markus?"

Markus sucked harder. The pressure made Simon's skin retract from the site. It exposed the bare touch sensor underneath.

Markus licked it.

Simon nearly jolted off the bed. Markus gently held his shoulders. He pinned them down.

"Markus," Simon said weakly. "What..."

He readied himself to stop if Simon asked. He sucked on the naked sensor slowly. He grazed it with his teeth.

Simon's leg kicked out to the side. He didn't seem aware. His hands went to the back of Markus' head. They were tight one moment, fleeting the next. They tangled instead in the sheets.

"Markus," Simon tried again. His voice was shaky. "I don't know what--I don't think you're supposed to put your mouth on--"

"I know," Markus said.

He peppered kisses on Simon's chest, the flat planes of his stomach. He sucked at Simon's navel. The skin receded for him there, anticipating his touch. He gave it a hot, open-mouthed kiss.

Simon's vocoder crackled with failure. He covered his face with his hands.

Markus smiled triumphantly. His fingers took his lips' place on the raw sensor. "What does it feel like?"

"I couldn't," Simon began. "I don't know how to..."

Markus melted the skin back on his hand. He reached for Simon's. They threaded their fingers together, white on white. Simon opened up a connection.

Markus brought their hands to his mouth. He laved his tongue over Simon's fingers from tip to knuckle.

Markus felt the sensation as if he were Simon. It was wet electric coursing through frayed nerves. His body was not meant to feel things unfiltered. It could not interpret this. It wanted to shut down, to block this out. It wanted more. His command line crashed under contradictory drives.

Markus took Simon's finger between parted lips. The sensation spiked for Simon, sweet and unbearable, unraveling at the edges of cognition. Markus hollowed his lips around each joint. He took Simon all the way down to the root.

Markus felt a panicked clawing at the inside of Simon's stomach, delicious in its audacity, begging to be let free.

Markus pulled off of Simon, letting go of his hand. Simon lay on the bed like a useless ragdoll. His fans were working in overtime, mouth open to allow them more air.

Markus brought his hands to Simon's waistband. He deftly unbuttoned his pants.

Simon pushed himself up on his elbows. He looked down at Markus from above. Markus petted his sides. He meant to soothe him, but seemed to agitate his condition. Simon's skin jumped under his hands. Simon grasped at the bedding, his own hair. A sound bordering on a laugh came out of him.

Markus slid the pants down Simon' long legs. He balled them up. He tossed the unwanted things aside.

He realized now that he had never had Simon spread out for him like this. The expanse of his naked skin was tawny in the lamplight. His calves were slender, artful. His torso tapered to his hips in a pleasant V. The curve of his backside was sweet in its suggestion. Markus thought: All of this was for him.

"Markus...?"

Markus put his hands under Simon's knees. He gently pushed them back.

"W-Wait," Simon said.

Markus froze on command. He took his hands away.

Simon rubbed his eyes. His fingers were shaking.

"Take your clothes off, Markus," he said quietly.

Markus saw a logic to that. He pulled his arms through his forest green shirt, dropping it off the bed. He shucked his pants down his legs and kicked them off. His socks went the same way.

Between them, there was nothing: only Simon's engagement ring.

Simon pulled Markus on top of him, kissing him deeply. For someone who did not know what was going on, he seemed to have made his own independent conclusions. His legs spread, making room for Markus to settle between them. Markus ran his hands inside his soft thighs.

Simon pulled back; his smile was sweet, not altogether innocent. He bit at his lip.

"If you break me," he began.

Markus stroked his tender lip. "I'll stop rightaway. Not happening."

Simon's tongue darted out shyly, touching his finger. Markus deactivated his skin there. Simon hesitated, then licked it. Every last one of Markus' mainline processors stuttered.

"I see," Simon murmured.

He switched focus from the subject of Markus' experimenting to a willing participant. The skin melted away from his legs, pulling back to his waist. Markus did the same. Simon brushed the back of Markus' thigh with his calf. Bare sensors connected in an illicit caress.

Simon brought their foreheads together, smiling secretly.

"Clever boy," he whispered.

Markus tucked his head in Simon's neck, trembling. Simon's hands stroked over his hips, his backside, no part of him untouched. Markus felt him kissing the side of his head.

Markus learned in that instant that the touch sensors he used the least were the most sensitive. Lack of exposure to outside stimuli had preserved them to factory settings. Simon brushed his hand over the bend of Markus' knee. His nerves jumped, exposed to the feathery touch. Simon kneaded the backs of Markus' thighs with his palms. Markus' entire system lit up. This pleasure was searing hot, betraying any possible frame of reference. It forcibly shut down Markus' background processes, restarting them in an infinite feedback loop.

Simon sucked on the hinge of Markus' jaw. He stroked the sides of his face.

"Okay?" he asked.

Markus nodded against his neck.

Simon pushed up slowly against him. His groin ground together with Markus', with the cradle of his thighs. Rapture flashed up his spine in a hot jackknife. Markus tightened his arms around him, scared now that they would both break. Simon rocked against him, stealing away Markus' ability to think. This might have been Simon's idea to begin with. Markus didn't know anymore.

Markus realized all the skin was gone from his front. He didn't remember having done that.

"Sweetheart," Simon said. "You're burning up."

How could Simon be sure that it wasn't him? Markus didn't know which of his feelings were his, or Simon's. He was growing to prefer the indistinction.

Markus' grinding came sloppy now, rhythmless. Simon's hands grasped at his rear, a misguided attempt to anchor him. It was all too much. His optics flooded with blinding red. His pump strained under critical system heat. His very extremities felt on fire.

Simon bent his head, sucking on Markus' exposed chest.

Markus shut down.

In the second's space between awareness and void, Markus felt euphoric. Markus felt only Simon. Simon was euphoria, was Markus' favorite thing to think and touch and see. Perhaps that was the point. This entire experience had built up to an existence, however brief, where only Simon existed. Everything was Simon. It was a reality preferable to reality itself. Markus wished he could take it with him.

  
*

  
Markus came back online ten minutes later. The spots where Simon had touched him had yet to rebuild skin.

Simon said, "You might have to activate self-repair."

He sounded so sheepish, Markus wanted to kiss him. He crawled up his body, eagerly giving in.

Simon laughed into his mouth. "My silly boy."

Markus pulled back, reaching for Simon's legs. "I think we have to do that again," he said intently.

Simon looked at him with alarm. "You don't want to sleep?"

"Sleep?" Markus said, bewildered. "Why? We don't have any work tomorrow."

Simon said, "But what about the museum?"

Markus hoisted Simon's legs on his shoulders. "It'll still be open in the afternoon, won't it?"

Simon covered his face with his hands. He laughed defeatedly. "You've created some kind of monster."

"No," Markus said, grinning. "All of this is your fault, remember?"

He nuzzled his face against Simon's calf. He licked a long stripe to his knee. Simon's stomach rippled with quiet laughter. Markus bent his head between his legs.

If couples got to do this all the time, Markus thought, he ought to have married Simon much sooner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Back to our regularly scheduled BS next time


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus and Simon return home to media outrage. Markus loses an ally. The Jericho gang attempts damage control, with Leo making an unorthodox suggestion. Markus makes a startling discovery about himself.

Luther loaded their bags in the trunk of the Jeep. He raised a hand over his eyes. The sun was strong this morning, a mean orange.

"All set," Luther said. "Let's get you back to the airport."

Alice tugged on Markus' hand. Markus leaned down, lending her his ear.

Her eyes were big and sad on her face. She said, "Aren't you going to come back sometime?"

Markus squeezed her hands. "Of course we are. We'll come back when your parents get married."

Luther chuckled. "Go on back to the inn, Alice."

Ralph thrust a tiny, potted cactus in Simon's hands. Simon startled, looking down at it.

Ralph kicked shyly at the ground. "It's a succulent," he said. "Even someone like you can take good care of it."

Simon looked like he was struggling not to laugh. "Thank you. How thoughtful."

Ralph gave him an adoring look. "Will you come back to visit Ralph, too?"

Simon hugged the flowerpot. "Of course. And you can come visit us in Detroit, too."

Markus and Simon climbed in the Jeep. Luther got in the front, slamming his door shut. The engine sputtered to life. The car tugged slowly down the road.

Alice and Ralph chased them partway. Alice was waving, Ralph jumping on his heels. Markus thought he had never met a sweeter family.

The car rounded the bend at the bottom of the hill. A thicket of pine trees opened up around the highway.

"You know," Luther said. "We were really starting to worry about the two of you for a while there."

Simon gave him a curious look from the back. "Why is that?"

Luther tossed the steering wheel in his big hands. "You hadn't come out of your room in the past four days. I was considering breaking the door down to check on you."

Simon put the cactus on the car seat. He buried his face in his hands. Markus gave him a sideways, victorious smile.

Luther glimpsed them in the car mirror. "Ah," he said knowingly.

Simon made a sound like a death rattle. Markus stifled his chuckle, taking Simon's hand.

Luther took them to the airport, where everybody said their goodbyes. He promised to keep in touch. Markus was still holding Simon's hand when they boarded their airplane. Markus buckled himself into the window seat.

"He knew," Simon said quietly. "I can never talk to him again."

Markus brought Simon's hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. "He'll forget all about it by tonight."

When they landed in the Detroit Metro Airport, Josh was waiting to pick them up. The moment he saw them, he harangued them.

"You need to come back to New Jericho," he said. "Right away, actually. Joss Douglas is waiting to interview you, and he's only got a limited window of time."

Markus opened his mouth to speak.

Josh cut him short. "I don't want to hear it! I really don't. Okay? Half the nation's up in arms right now! They think the two of you played some elaborate prank on everyone!"

Simon looked him in the eye. "I'm sorry."

Josh deflated, running out of steam. Markus empathized. It must have been hard to stay mad at Simon. Markus never could have done it.

"Come on," Josh muttered. "We'll rehearse in the car. Whatever you say today, it had better be perfect. I mean it, you two. Everybody's on tenterhooks because of this."

The drive back to Belle Isle felt tense and unamiable. Markus held Simon's hand, unsure which one of them he was comforting. He thought: Could all their progress with humans really be upended just because they had forfeited their wedding? What a strange hill to die on.

The former CyberLife Tower loomed ahead of the car, cold and foreboding. Josh parked the car in the underground garage. The three of them rode the elevator up to a floor filled with conference rooms.

North was waiting outside a defunct rec room. When she saw Markus and Simon, she narrowed her eyes.

"So," she said. "Finally decided to pull up your big boy pants and come on home, huh?"

Markus rolled his eyes. "Is Joss inside?"

"Has been for about twenty minutes." North looked the two of them over. "Are you going in wearing _that?_ "

Markus was wearing his nice gray dress shirt. Simon was wearing the Halloween sweater.

Markus put his arm around Simon's waist. "He looks fine."

North was the one to roll her eyes this time. "Whatever. Not my funeral."

Markus and Simon went inside the rec room. Markus blinked at the bright quartz lamps standing against the walls, the bulky cameras taking up floor space. Two beige sofas stood facing each other. Joss Douglas was sitting on one of them, his arm thrown over the back, his legs crossed ankle to knee.

Markus was distracted by the PL600 standing over Joss. His hands were behind his back, his suit teal-green and white.

Joss followed Markus' gaze. "That's Skandar," he said easily. "I was so taken with your PL600, I had to go out and get my own."

Markus couldn't reconcile this android's stoic face with Simon's gentle smiles. The discrepancy was uncanny.

"Wait a minute," Markus said. "What do you mean, 'get your own'?"

Joss fished his cell phone out of his pocket. "I'm talking about Plastic Love, the human-android dating site. Never heard of it?"

"No," Markus said, gobsmacked. "Plastic Love? That sounds incredibly racist."

"Oh," Joss said, putting the phone away. "Oh, well. I'm just a consumer."

Skandar stepped out of the room. Markus secretly felt relieved.

It took another ten minutes for the cameramen to set up. Markus and Simon sat on the empty sofa. Markus could tell that Simon was nervous. Simon sat with his thigh pressed against Markus', his body so close that they might have been one machine. Markus took Simon's hand on his lap.

The cameraman counted down. Joss' personality turned on like a light switch.

"So, you guys," he said brightly. "Here's the question on everybody's minds: What the heck were you thinking?"

Simon's hand tightened in Markus'. Markus squeezed it gently.

"I wasn't thinking," Markus said. "I was in love. The person I loved wasn't happy. So we made some last-minute adjustments."

Joss leaned forward conversationally. "How do you feel about the petition going around that the two of you repay the city for its expenses?"

Markus hadn't heard about a petition. He felt slightly queasy.

Simon shifted his grip, his hand covering Markus'. "Markus has always been willing to work with the public for common ground. That hasn't changed."

Joss zeroed in on Simon, eagle-eyed. "You're something of a mysterious figure, don't you think? In this privacy-averse era, you've managed to elude almost all inquiries into your past."

Simon said nothing.

"The public is fascinated with you," Joss went on. "Can we expect a softer, kinder Markus, now that he's married to you?"

Simon said, "Markus has always been kind."

"I'm sure," Joss said. "But is it true you were heavily involved in Red Ice production prior to last year's demonstration?"

Markus stared at Joss in horror. He couldn't imagine where Joss had dug that up.

"Simon?" Joss prompted.

Simon stared at his knees. For one surreal moment, Markus thought he would never speak again.

Simon looked up with a faint smile. "My life began on a rooftop. It was snowing. You probably remember the day I'm talking about. That was the day Markus told everyone we were alive."

"Yes," Joss said. "But prior to deviating--"

"I couldn't possibly comment on things that happened before I was alive, any more than you could. I wasn't alive for any of it."

Joss looked like he was growing irritated. "We all understand the legal distinction. But prior to deviating--"

"Prior to deviating, I wasn't alive. I couldn't have done anything if I wasn't alive."

Markus wondered where on earth Simon had picked up on journalistic double-speak. He had never felt more proud of him.

The interview lasted an exhausting hour. Joss and his crew left at the end of it, his personal PL600 in tow.

"I should've known," Markus said. "It's always a fluff piece. I don't know why Josh trusts that guy so much."

Simon laid his head on Markus' shoulder. "I suppose he's the least opportunistic of the vultures."

Markus pressed his cheek against Simon's hair. He listened to the quiet whirring of Simon's machine parts. He tangled their fingers together in a warm slide.

"I love you," Markus said.

Markus heard the puzzled smile in Simon's voice. "I know. You don't think you need to keep saying it, do you?"

"I feel happy when I say it," Markus said stubbornly. "I love you."

Markus nuzzled closer, allowing no space between them. Markus was in an especially greedy mood.

Simon put a hand on Markus' knee. He squeezed inside his thigh.

"I couldn't love you more," Simon said unselfconsciously. "But you still have to go to work today, Markus. I'm sorry."

Markus let himself fall sideways. His head landed on Simon's lap.

"I can't move," Markus declared.

Laughter leaked into Simon's voice, even as he scolded him. "Markus..."

Markus rubbed his face on Simon's stomach. "I'm _dying_ , Simon."

"Oh, no," said Simon unconvincingly. He carded his fingers through Markus' hair. "My poor boy."

Markus sneaked his hand between them. He slowly unbuttoned Simon's pants.

"Markus," Simon muttered. "This is a rec room."

Markus kissed Simon's stomach. "A rec room that nobody uses."

Markus slipped his hand in Simon's pants. Simon seemed to lose all cogent speech.

"In--insatiable," Simon rasped.

Markus chalked it up as another victory.

*

Markus was back in his office by four o'clock, already counting the minutes until he could see Simon again. He sat at his desk, smiling at his lucky cat figurine.

Cristina Warren's pixelized face streamed out of his desktop. Markus didn't understand why she insisted on this outdated mode of communication. He could have received her video feed internally. He supposed she felt more secure if she could see his face, too.

"We seem to misunderstand each other," Cristina said. "'Leading by example' doesn't mean committing to a public wedding, then running away from it."

"It's _my_ wedding," Markus said. "If I want to have it in a police station, I can have it in a police station. Or anywhere else, for that matter. I thought humans and androids had equal rights now?"

Cristina stared at Markus, her mouth thin, her chest rising and falling.

"I thought," said Cristina, "that our goals were aligned. Now I wonder. First the cabinet position, and now this."

Markus said, "If your goal has anything to do with androids choosing their own trajectory, we have no quarrel."

"Markus, I don't like making ultimatums," Cristina said. "Are you aware of that?"

Markus folded his hands on his lap. "Then why do I feel like you're about to make one?"

"You have until Christmas to move no less than half of New Jericho's tenants out of the tower. If I feel androids haven't made progress on societal integration by then, I'll be forced to conclude your motives are terroristic in nature."

Markus stared at Cristina's image. "What?"

"If," Cristina went on, "I deem you a national security threat, you will be placed on a watch list. New Jericho will be disbanded, by police action, if necessary. As its chairman, you will be prosecuted to the letter of the law. Do we understand each other, Markus?"

Markus understood perfectly well. He tucked his hands under his knees. He felt like a child learning unfairness for the first time.

Markus thought: These negotiations were never about making his people feel safe. They were about control. This administration tolerated emancipated androids to the extent that it could control them. It was no different than its approach with humans.

North was right, Markus realized. Cristina had made him a puppet, and he had let her.

*

Markus called an emergency meeting at five-thirty. Simon, Josh, North, and Leo all gathered together in a secure conference room. Members of North's security detail stood guard outside the door. Leo had been in the middle of eating dinner. He brought it with him, a cheerful red pasta salad, and ate it at the long table.

Josh paced the room like a caged lion. "This is completely unconstitutional. She can't do this!"

North crossed her feet on the table. "Oh, really? You think she got where she is today by people telling her she couldn't do shit?"

Josh stopped pacing. "I need to think. I need to think..."

Simon looked around the room like he didn't know where he was. Markus mirrored his sentiment.

Josh rounded on Markus. "Didn't the Michigan Supreme Court award you this building during the ceasefire last year?"

Markus nodded distantly. "They told me I could do whatever I wanted with it."

"Right," Josh said. "'Anything you want' doesn't preclude housing half a million androids."

Markus rubbed his eyes. "She's going to argue we're operating as a self-governing autonomous zone."

"No offense," Leo said. "But she's kind of right. How many of you paid taxes in April?"

North glared at him. "Did _you?_ "

Leo pointed at her with his fork. "I was unemployed."

"Right," North said. "And so is almost everyone in this tower. It's not a freaking commune. It's low income housing."

Leo mashed up his olives. "Low income housing that only services androids. It does look kinda discriminatory."

North was still glaring at him. Leo raised his hands in surrender. "I'm just playing the other side of the argument!"

"Well, could you stop?" North snapped.

"Wait," Josh said. "Wait! He may have a point."

North looked deeply anguished. Markus knew from experience that her least favorite thing in the world was Leo having a point.

Josh planted his hands on the table. "Markus! Invite human tenants to move into New Jericho!"

Markus stared at Josh like a particularly stupid fish. "What?"

"Don't go dense now," Josh said. "Warren says she wants to see humans and androids cohabiting, right? Well, what if they're doing that _here?_ "

Simon nodded slowly. "It would remove the legitimacy of our being some clandestine terrorist organization."

"I...okay," Markus said, coming around. "I can see the sense in that."

Markus said, "But she still gave me a deadline for _emptying_ New Jericho. This is just going to look like I'm sticking it to her."

"Oh, no," Josh said firmly. "No, she absolutely can't take away what was given to you by law. We'll hire a lawyer--a human lawyer, mind you--and file a federal lawsuit."

Markus sat up in his chair. "You used to teach history, Josh."

"That's right," Josh said.

"Then you _know_ we can't sue the federal government. The incumbent president has sovereign immunity."

"Except under the Federal Tort Claims Act. Markus, we can do this. All we need to do is bring up your public approval rating. It's taken a hit, considering...recent happenings."

Markus detested this. The public was making him out to be a reactionary because he had protected the person he loved.

Markus didn't even _want_ to be chairman of New Jericho. He had fallen into the position the way he did all things in life: face-first.

No matter where he fell, Markus thought--into a freighter, off a skyscraper, down the political ladder--Simon was always with him. Markus glimpsed Simon down the length of the table. Markus began to feel as if the world might not end.

Leo cleared his throat. He pushed his empty bowl away. "I've kinda been thinking."

"No way," North said. "You sure about that?"

"Shut up. Anyway," Leo said, "I think I know a good way you two can save face."

Simon smiled lightly. "What is it?"

Leo scratched the back of his head. "Didn't you two mention in some interview that you wanted to have kids?"

Everyone at the table fell silent. Simon shifted uncomfortably.

"Leo," Markus said. "We _just_ got married."

"Hey, I know," Leo said, waving his hands. "I'm not saying run out and do it right now. But, like...at least apply for a foster care license. You know--get the ball rolling. Put the idea out there."

He said, "Put the idea out there that you wanna adopt a _human_ kid."

North dropped her feet off the table. "The humans'll throw a shit fit! They'll never let two androids adopt a human!"

"Why are you like this?" Leo groused. "You don't know any of that! I think people are gonna be touched by this! They'll see it as a sign that androids still love humans."

"Yeah," North said, "or they'll see it as a sign that we're trying to indoctrinate their youth!"

Josh dropped his head in his hands. He rubbed his temples fiercely. Markus might have thought he would be glad for Leo's inclusion. It meant another person for North to butt heads with.

Now Markus saw that Josh had gone from babysitting one rabblerouser to two.

Simon said, "Can we talk about this again tomorrow? Everyone's tired, and anxious. We're not getting much done."

"Yeah," Leo said. "Plus, I've got a major case of heartburn."

One by one, Markus' friends left the conference room. In the end, only Markus and Simon were left. Simon stood up from his chair. He came around the table to stand behind Markus, grasping his shoulders.

"Every day," Simon said, "I think about how sorry I am that you have to deal with all this."

Markus pressed his face to Simon's wrist. "I wish..."

Simon stroked the side of his neck. "What is it, Markus?"

Markus released a long-held exhale. "I wish that you took care of plants, and I drew children's books, and neither of us knew anything about politics."

*

It was nine o'clock when Markus and Simon went home. Carl was sitting in his bathrobe, shouting at the TV.

"For God's sake," Carl complained. "I'm trying to get the weather forecast, and they're predicting the end of days!"

Markus took Simon's jacket off. "Couldn't you have just asked Alastair?"

"Oh, he has the evening off," Carl said. "Had to practically force him, really. You try living with a sourpuss 24/7. It's very tiring."

Markus hung Simon's coat up. Simon went upstairs to water his plants. Markus told Carl about the day's upsetting turn of events.

Carl muted the television. "Adoption, Markus?"

Markus winced at him. He sat on the arm of the sofa. "I hate this, Carl. I feel like everything we do is a part of some play."

"Trust me," Carl said. "I've been there. When you're in the public eye, your life is hardly your own."

Simon didn't deserve that, Markus thought. A child didn't deserve that, either.

Carl hummed thoughtfully. "This house is hardly child-friendly. Big staircases and overlooks...a child could get hurt."

"I hadn't considered that," Markus said. "If we do bring a child here someday, we'll have to keep a close eye on them."

Carl said, "You don't suppose a child would resent you for that?"

Markus scanned Carl in the lamplight. He didn't understand what Carl was getting at.

"Markus, come now," Carl said. "You're married and in love. Whether you do or don't adopt a child, you've got a new family now. You don't want to stay in this stuffy old house. It'll stifle your growth."

Markus' eyes widened. "Are you kicking me out?"

"Of course not," Carl said. "But I'm telling you, it won't be long before you feel the restraints of this house. You'll want a place of your own." He looked at Markus matter-of-factly. "You've never _had_ a place of your own."

Now that Carl had planted the idea, it took root; it sprouted leaves. It was sorely tempting to think of a place that Simon might decorate as he wanted.

Markus could pleasure him in any room of the house without worrying about decorum.

"Dad," Markus said tightly. "You'll be okay if I leave you?"

Carl waved a bony hand. "I've got Alastair and Leo. I'll be fine. Anyway, it might be nice to have a grandchild when the time comes. I could spoil them rotten and turn them against you."

Markus laughed mistily. He didn't understand why he was getting emotional.

He got up from his seat, hugging Carl around his shoulders. Carl put his hand on Markus' elbow. It was somehow tremulous.

"It's outrageous," Carl said. "I was never much of a father, you know. And now I've watched you grow so fast, and you're barely more than a year old." Carl sighed. "A man could get whiplash from less."

Markus pressed his brow to the side of Carl's head. "I think you're the best father, really."

Carl patted him on the arm. "You'd better go upstairs. I believe you have a husband waiting for you. I'm going to see if Leo wants to watch Candyman for the seventh time."

Markus kissed him on the temple. He said good night, then dashed up the staircase. Despite the day's events, he was feeling peculiarly light.

In their bedroom, Simon was sitting on the mattress. He had stolen one of Markus' t-shirts to sleep in. It was tight across his chest and shoulders, delighting Markus. Markus pulled off his suit jacket. He didn't remember where his necktie had gone.

Markus said, "Why are you wearing pants?"

Simon gave him a mild look. "Does my wearing clothes inconvenience you so much?"

"Terribly," Markus said, unbuttoning his shirt. "You should have consulted me first. I may never recover from this."

Simon tugged his shorts down. "Well, we can't have that."

Markus settled over Simon. He pulled away the rest of their detestable clothing. It was a conspiracy, Markus realized, a ploy to keep him wanting. Whoever had come up with shirts and pants had only done it knowing how badly Markus would want to take Simon's off. They must have thought themselves very clever. They could not have predicted Markus' singular devotion to Simon's thighs, his unrivaled determination to live between them.

He devoted the hour to taking Simon apart with his mouth. He did it again, just to prove that he could. He watched Simon cover his face with the pillow. Simon overheated, and Markus thought: in a home of their own, he wouldn't have to stifle his cries.

*

Markus came out of stasis prematurely at 10:46 PM. He frowned at himself, wrinkling his face. He settled his head on Simon's naked chest. His OS didn't normally reboot during RAM dumps. He must have been preoccupied with the day's unpleasant revelations.

He rifled through his EPROM, searching for problem files. He thought he might help the process along manually.

Elijah Kamski's entire video cache was sitting unused on his harddrive. Markus thought: It was well past time that he deleted it. It might free up some reprogrammable space. He opened up the data index, running a quick content scan.

The file allocation table told Markus there were forty-four videos in the index. He counted them manually, just to be sure.

His manual count came back with a different number. There were six hundred and thirteen orphaned data segments.

Markus narrowed his eyes. Orphaned data meant that someone had deleted files from the cache, presumably before he had downloaded it.

Deletion was not a permanent thing. A sophisticated enough machine could compile the data segments and recreate the lost files. Police had entire forensics departments devoted to the task.

Markus considered himself a sophisticated machine.

Markus rearranged the orphaned data. It took fifty minutes to match all the bytes with their parent files.

The process left him with six new video files, and no idea where to start.

He opened one of the videos at random. He tightened his hands on Simon's waist, bracing himself.

The timestamp read: October 15th, 2021. Markus was staring at a woman who looked remarkably like Chloe, but older, her golden hair laced with silver strands. Her skin had thinned out around her mouth. She must have been in her late forties.

She gazed right into Markus' eyes. She looked disturbed.

"Is this what you flew me all this way for?" she asked quietly. "Why did you think I would want to see this?"

A much younger Kamski stepped into Markus' line of vision. If he was twenty, he was old. He leaned down, staring at something on Markus' face.

He straightened up. "Beautiful, Mother, isn't she? Unlike you, she doesn't adopt children from overseas, then toss them into foster care when they prove too much work."

The woman stormed off, her back to the camera. Kamski was laughing, a low, deranged sound.

A tiny hand rose in front of the video feed. It must have been Chloe's. It raked over Kamski's head, brushing his hair.

Markus closed the video, disconcerted. Who would have deleted this file? Why? There was nothing incriminating in it. It only confirmed what Markus already knew: Kamski was not well, mentally or physically.

Markus moved on to the next video. He almost didn't want to. His curiosity overrode his better judgment.

The timestamp read: April 25th, 2024.

Markus assumed this video, too, had been recorded by Chloe. He saw through her eyes a panoramic view of Kamski's villa, the floor like obsidian, the walls like ice. Markus noted the living room didn't have its pool yet. Kamski was sitting on a divan, his legs pulled up. His face was gaunt and pale.

Markus was kneeling next to him, sliding an IV port into the back of his hand.

Markus was so startled to see himself, he paused the video. His thirium pump was rabbit-fast in his chest. His processors raced to keep up.

The timestamp had to be wrong. This video had been taken a full fourteen years before Markus was gifted to Carl.

He unpaused the video, dread mounting. The sound of Kamski's voice filled his ears.

"Just think," Kamski said. He winced, the needle pricking his thin skin. "In a few years' time, we may see androids performing surgeries."

Chloe said nothing. Clear yellow liquid dripped down the wire in Kamski's hand.

Kamski smiled indolently. "Well," he said. "Not this android."

Markus aborted the video playback. He sat upright, Simon's chest forgotten. He felt the strange urge to cry. It had to have been a mistake. Perhaps it was another android with his likeness.

Markus understood now why humans feared the dark. Anything could have been hiding there.

He opened a third video, desperate for answers. He bit down on his tongue. The timestamp read: April 3rd, 2024.

Markus was in this video, too. He lay naked on a white table, eyes open. It was unmistakably him, his green eyes, his serial number. Kamski bent over him, pressing his navel. Markus' stomach compartment opened up. Inside was an intricate highway of wires and tubes.

Chloe said, off-screen, "It doesn't look like you, Elijah."

Kamski snapped Markus' stomach shut. "Of course it doesn't. You wouldn't understand. You're already beautiful--a work of art, really. You must think beauty comes naturally to those who have it."

"I'm sure I don't know," Chloe said. "But still, it doesn't look like you."

Kamski turned to peruse her playfully. His hands were stained blue with thirium.

"I'll explain another way," Kamski said. "If you could look like anything in the world, wouldn't you? I'm trading in this decrepit body, and you expect me to want to keep the same face?"

" _Simon!_ "

Markus killed the video feed. He wasn't aware he had shouted until Simon sat upright, coming out of stasis. His hands found Markus' shoulders in the dark.

Kamski once said: _What's the harm in me making myself a little more android?_ Markus should have known better. A man like Elijah Kamski couldn't be pressed to stop at a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Plastic Love, for all your android dating needs!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3bNITQR4Uso)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus undergoes medical evaluation and meets his lawyer. Markus learns the exact nature of Kamski's death, and what it means for him and Simon going forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay--I was originally planning two additional chapters. But exactly what I said at the beginning might happen has happened: I lost interest! :-) You can imagine how much editors love working with me.
> 
> I think this is a cogent enough place to end it, so I'm just going to close the fic off here. I had much more I wanted to do with it, but I'll recycle those ideas for possible future fics. Lord knows I have a big enough list.

The elevator dropped down the gargantuan complex. Glass on all sides, it rotated, facing the outdoors. It was September now. The trees on the quadrangle were heavy with brown leaves, curling at the tip. The verdant carpet of grass glinted gold in the right light. Markus might have mistaken the flecks for fireflies. It was too early for them. They came out at night, awash in pageantry, glowing like miniature, traveling suns.

Simon leaned against one side of the elevator. His arms were folded. His sweater was a rosy pink.

The elevator sank underground. The sun, the trees, the grass were gone, darkness filling up the window.

"That's why," Markus said.

Simon looked up. His eyes hung all over Markus' face.

"That's why he left me all his assets," Markus said. "Because I'm going to become him."

Simon dropped his arms. "No, you're not, Markus."

"He built me because he was dying, Simon. He built me to--to house him, to be his body, like I'm some kind of--"

Markus felt his stress levels rising. He closed his mouth. His fans were rattling behind his chest.

Simon took a step forward. "You're nothing like him, Markus. Not even a little bit."

Markus looked up, his hands curling. "He said that, too. He said he didn't know why I'd turned out the way I had. That was why he wanted to study my memory."

Simon's eyes softened. He was so close, Markus felt it on his lips when he exhaled.

He lifted his hand to the side of Markus' face. Markus pressed into it, his eyes closing.

"Markus," he said. "Isn't that proof enough? No matter what he intended for you, you subverted it. You became your own person."

Markus could only admit it to Simon. "I'm scared."

Simon tenderly thumbed the dip below Markus' mouth. "You have every right to be."

"What if there's something inside me--some program--"

"Markus."

Markus opened his eyes on command. He didn't know how Simon did it. Thousands of people looked to Markus for direction. Markus looked only to Simon.

Simon held Markus' face in both hands. He stepped impossibly closer, feet slotting between Markus'.

"Nothing's going to happen to you," Simon said. "Because I'm not going to let it."

Markus dared to believe him. Simon certainly seemed to. He spoke with such a calm temerity, Markus knew he had no doubts. He made the unreal look as if it stood a chance. Markus wondered if Baba Yaga's hut had legs, if princes really drew swords from stones.

Simon kissed Markus' forehead. Markus saw no reason they couldn't.

*

John was waiting for Markus and Simon in the medical bay. He stood alone in the sterile white lab, cables sticking out of the ceiling.

Markus felt a kinship toward John. John was the first android Markus had woken up. He hadn't known he could, until that rainy night outside the CyberLife warehouse. A touch of the hand, a transmission of memories, and the idea spread like wildfire: _I can be whoever I want._

"Markus," John said warmly. "And Simon. Hello."

He touched the glass wall overlooking the corridor. It darkened, providing them privacy.

John turned to face them. "Don't be scared. I'm going to run a deep scan for spyware and any other problem programs." He paused. "Because of the nature of the scan, it can take up to six hours. But we have to be thorough, if we're doing this right."

Markus wondered what John would find inside him. What kind of program had Kamski designed to supplant Markus' personality matrix?

Simon quietly took Markus' hand. "Do whatever you have to," he said.

John looked at him. "There's really not much you can do for this part. If you have some other work to do..."

"I'm alright," Simon said.

Markus was secretly grateful he wasn't going anywhere.

John retracted the skin on his hands. "May I?"

Markus nodded. He gave him his free hand. Their sensors locked together, lighting up blue.

It was nothing like the time Chloe had dived through his memories. In this instant, there were no memories. There was no Markus. Markus was reduced to the lines of his code, his XORs and operands. He thought nothing, except that he thought. He existed in some physical space. It might as well have been the Sonoran Desert.

His optics needed calibrating. His left eye showed only the grid with his protocols, a list of all installed software. His right eye displayed an afterimage. It was a PL600. He was beautiful.

Markus couldn't say what time it was when he came back to awareness. His mouth felt like cotton and static. The laboratory lurched around him, white and antiseptic.

His knees buckled. Simon's arm came around him. He held him up.

John's LED flashed from yellow to blue. "It'll take me a day to analyze everything I've downloaded. I'll call you tomorrow with the results. You should rest for a few hours, Markus. Your processes are going to run slower for a while."

Simon gave him a small smile. "Thank you. I'll watch over him."

Simon helped Markus walk outside. Markus couldn't comprehend how stiff his body was, how disordered his thoughts.

Simon opened the door to a room with two beds. A lamp glowed by the window. The blinds were drawn shut.

"Here," Simon said gently. "This is a good place."

He lowered Markus onto one of the beds. He pulled down the blankets.

Markus tucked his legs under them. "You can't stay, Simon."

Simon pulled the blankets up. He stroked Markus' scalp. "Don't be silly."

Markus reached for his hand. "You just can't. Imran Bradshaw's going to follow you around the Red Ice clinic tonight, remember? For that puff piece."

Simon fell silent. Markus could see the discontent in his eyes. Simon volunteered at the clinic because he enjoyed it. He didn't want his philanthropy used as a publicity stunt.

Simon closed his hand around Markus'. "I don't feel good leaving you right now, Markus."

"Me, neither," Markus confessed. "But we've got to build back our public image. Besides," he added, "I'm not going anywhere."

Simon wavered on the spot. He bent down, kissing Markus' forehead. He kissed his cheeks, his nose, his lips one at a time.

"I'll see you at home, then," he said. "I'll miss you."

Markus smiled sleepily. "Miss you already."

He listened to Simon's footsteps when he walked out the door. He listened to the door snapping closed with a click.

He shut his eyes, entering a fitful stasis.

*

Markus woke two hours later to his secretary's voice blaring in his head.

 _I'm so sorry_ , Lila said. _I'm sure you're doing something important, but your legal counsel just arrived. She's waiting for you in the front office._

Markus sat up stiffly. He grimaced. He swung his leaden legs over the bed.

 _Thank you, Lila_ , Markus said. _Tell her I'll be right up._

It took considerable effort to drag himself out the door. Markus had not felt this unwell in a long time. He boarded the elevator, rubbing his head. He would have liked to go back to sleep.

He stepped into the office duplex, wincing in the harsh light. Lila looked up from her desk, smiling benignly.

A human woman was sitting on the padded chair by the wall. A neat gray dress suit covered her soft bulk. Her hair spilled down her back in bushy black curls.

Markus approached her, smiling. He held out his hand. "Sorry for the wait."

She rose from the seat, shaking his hand. She smiled kindly. "I promise I didn't wait long. I only just got here."

Markus and the lawyer went through the back door. Markus sat at his desk, the lawyer opposite. Markus turned on a tablet, reading her resume.

Markus held back a frown. "It says here you've been out of practice for three years."

Rose shifted in her seat. "My husband owned a farm that serviced low-income neighborhoods. I took over after he died. I liked what I did plenty, but his work was a little more important at the time."

Markus put the tablet down. "I'm so sorry."

Rose smiled at him, illuminating her soft eyes, the very office. "Well, thank you, sweetheart. But you don't need to be."

Something about Rose reminded Markus of Simon. Markus thought kind people were like that. They made the world a little more bearable just by sharing it.

Markus looked again at her resume. "You used to practice family law?"

Rose nodded. "I know it's a far cry from android law, but honestly, android law didn't even exist until a year ago. Nobody's gone to school for it. What we do with this case has the potential to shape what it will look like, going forward.

"Besides," Rose went on. "Those three years on the farm prepared me for this."

Markus tilted his head. "How do you mean?"

Rose considered him for a moment. "I used to live very close to the Canadian border. Deviant androids came through all the time, searching for freedom."

Markus looked at her with dawning. "And you helped them escape."

She pushed her hair back. "I didn't know if it was the right thing, at first. My son and I could have gone to prison if we were caught. But I only needed to spend time with one of you to see the truth."

"That was very brave," Markus said.

Rose smiled reluctantly. "So we're working together?"

Markus nodded firmly. "We're working together."

"Good," Rose said. She leaned back in her chair. "I'll file federal proceedings first thing in the morning."

Markus felt exhaustion pulling at his processes. He rubbed his head. "The president says we need to evacuate by Christmas..."

"Oh, no," Rose said stoutly. "None of you are going anywhere, and I'll tell you why."

Markus waited.

Rose rubbed her knuckles. "Federal proceedings can take up to three years to go to court. The president can't do anything to you until a decision's been made on your case."

"That buys us a few years' time," Markus agreed. "But after court?"

"Markus," Rose said. "This is the last year of Cristina Warren's term."

Markus laid his hand on the desk. He knew that. But he hadn't considered what that meant.

Rose said, "She was counting on you not knowing how long federal lawsuits take. She was trying to play you for a fool."

"No wonder she gave me Christmas as a deadline," Markus realized. "She wouldn't have been able to do later than that."

Markus said, "But if she gets reelected?"

"Well," Rose said. "With a 22% approval rating, the only way that's happening is if she runs against a literal goblin."

"I don't know," Markus said. "I'd vote for the goblin."

Rose threw her head back, laughing. Markus realized he enjoyed hearing it. She had the kind of laugh that made him feel responsible for it.

The door to Markus' office flew open. North stormed inside, committed, as always, to eschewing decorum.

"Markus," she said. "Your stupid bodyguard--"

Her eyes fell on Rose. She drew off mid-sentence.

Markus stood up. "North, this is Rose Chapman. Rose, this is North, my friend."

Rose's smile crinkled her eyes. "Nice to meet you."

North frowned at her. A deep furrow wrinkled the space between her eyebrows. She put her hand on the doorknob.

She backed out into the duplex. She slammed the door shut.

Markus looked at Rose. "Can you move here? No one has ever been able to do that."

Rose stifled a giggle. "You know, I just might. I only recently moved back to Michigan from Canada. All this prime real estate...it certainly wasn't like this before the exodus, I'll say that..."

*

Markus went home at eight o'clock at night. Home now was an apartment building downtown, overlooking Capitol Park. It had a sky terrace with a tennis court, which Markus never used, but teased Leo over with frequency. Leo swore he wouldn't visit until Markus knocked it off.

Lucien dropped Markus off on the third floor. Lucien and Bat lived in the next apartment over, a necessity Markus wasn't comfortable with. New Jericho had ample housing. Markus had thought to utilize it. It was Josh who had stepped in and advised against it. Humans were watching their every move, Josh had pointed out. It was a bad show of faith to go from living in a human neighborhood to withdrawing from human society.

Markus thought: Even where they slept at night was dictated by public interests.

Markus interfaced with the lock on his door. Tiredly, he stepped inside.

He paused on the spot, looking around. Simon must have been making use of his long neglected domestic programs. A plush gray rug lay over the hardwood. Fairy lights encircled the electric hearth, Simon's plants on the mantel. The bulbs twinkled in tandem. Markus was awash in their warm yellow glow.

Markus smelled cinnamon, sweet on the air.

"Simon?" he called out.

Simon stepped out of the kitchen. He was wearing the pink sweater and a pair of lounge shorts.

"Here," he said, thrusting a bowl at Markus.

Markus started, taking it. A cinnamon stick floated in a sea of warm milk.

"Thank you," Markus said, puzzled. "Why?"

"To calm you down," Simon explained.

Markus didn't see how. "That was very thoughtful of you."

Simon took him by the shoulders. He pushed him into a seat on the sofa. Markus suspected he was about to be waited on.

"Simon," Markus began.

"Be quiet," Simon said lightly. "I'm in charge."

Simon pulled the blanket off the back of the couch. He circled behind Markus, tucking it around his shoulders. Markus felt both silly and unfathomably loved.

Simon came and sat beside Markus. Markus stuck the cinnamon stick in his mouth. The taste was surprisingly pleasant.

Markus could have gone on like this, enjoying Simon's presence, the silence of the apartment. Then Simon surprised him by taking his hand, opening an interface. A video file began to play.

Markus leaned back. He gave him a serious look. "Dancer in the Dark is the best movie of all time, Simon."

"I know," Simon said mildly. "You only told me about forty times already."

Markus laid his head on Simon's shoulder. He didn't understand why he derived pleasure from viewing a file he had already seen. He didn't need to see it again to quote the script if prompted, to know that Björk sang "I've Seen It All" exactly fifty-five minutes, thirty-eight seconds in. He supposed the repetition was a break in cognition, a rest without halting his faculties. Maybe the difference was that Simon was with him. The mundane looked exciting when Simon was with him.

He didn't know when he had fallen asleep. He opened his eyes, his head on Simon's lap. The bowl of milk was on the coffee table, cold now. Gershwin the Roomba bumped into a wall.

Simon played with the fuzz of Markus' hair, with the tips of his ears. Markus buried his face in his lap. He wrapped an arm around Simon's bare knees. Why was it that he wanted to cry? He felt overwhelmed--by fear of the unknown; by how much Simon loved him. That was the worst part of all this. If Markus disappeared, Simon was going to be sad.

Simon pressed his shoulder. "Let's go to bed, silly boy."

He didn't want to. Sleep meant morning came sooner.

"Markus," Simon said. "I won't let anything happen to you. I meant that."

Markus reluctantly stood up. He reached for Simon's hands, pulling him off the couch.

The one room Simon had yet to personalize was the bedroom. It was plain inside, save for the nightstand. Simon's amaryllis was standing on top, along with Markus' sand bottle. Markus began undressing for bed. He was surprised to see Simon deactivating his entire skin, his clothes gone.

"You, too," Simon ordered gently.

Markus was powerless to deny him. He shut off his dermal layer.

He shed his suit and tie, climbing into bed. Simon lay next to him, face-to-face. Simon's eyes filled up Markus' vision. Markus was reminded of forget-me-nots. Markus saw the tiny cameras at the backs of his pupils, retracting as they took in more of Markus.

Simon slid his leg between Markus'. He wrapped his arms around him. His sensors were glowing.

They interfaced at every point of contact. Their stomachs made a closed circuit, their thighs, Simon's hands on Markus' back. Markus dug his chin in Simon's chest. They operated as one machine. Markus felt Simon's battery fueling them, electrical impulses running down his back. Markus pushed processing power Simon's way. Their storage capacity expanded to a networked server. Markus felt they could have hosted all of New Jericho between them.

Markus gave way to Simon, to his thoughts, his long day. He remembered as Simon the microphone thrust in his face, Charity yelling at reporters. He remembered the butterfly Simon had seen on his way home, the puddle he had side-stepped on the sidewalk.

Simon bent his head, kissing Markus' chest. Markus' systems stuttered at the touch to his bare sensors. Simon subjected him to the sweet torment in varying degrees of intensity, until Markus shut down, freed from the fetters of awareness. He should have known Simon was the panacea.

*

John called them at ten AM the next morning. Simon was watering the plants when he patched through to them.

 _Clean bill of health_ , John said brightly. _Our scan detected no anomalies in your software._

Markus was too perplexed to feel relieved.

 _You're sure?_ Simon asked. _Nothing even remotely suspicious?_

 _Nothing whatever_ , John said. _No backdoors, overwrites, or vulnerabilities. Not even a simple keylogger. Your system is very secure, Markus. I hope this gives you a little peace of mind._

He disconnected, leaving Markus at a loss. Markus sat heavily on the sofa.

Simon folded his arms loosely. "That's good, isn't it?"

Markus shook his head. "It...doesn't make sense."

Simon approached him where he sat. "We don't even know how Kamski was planning transference. Maybe he never got around to the exact method, either."

It didn't sound right. All the same, Markus knew John wouldn't lie to him.

Simon put a hand on Markus' shoulder. "You should call Leo. He's been worried about you."

"Yeah." Markus looked up with a faint smile. "Let me get that out of the way."

Simon picked up the milk bowl left over from last night. He carried it in the kitchen. Markus called Leo, who picked up straightaway. They talked about John's findings, or lack thereof.

"Dude," Leo said. "You know what this calls for?"

"No," Markus said carefully. "What?"

"Karaoke bar!" Leo crowed. "Tonight, seven o'clock!"

Markus let his confused silence speak for itself.

"Sorry," Markus eventually said. "But why?"

Leo scoffed at him over the connection. "To celebrate, duh. You've been tightly wound lately--with reason--and, like, I barely see you outside your office anymore. C'mon," Leo went on. "It'll be fun."

"I don't know," Markus said dubiously. Singing wasn't his idea of fun.

"Just think about it," Leo said. "Take a break from all the political bullshit."

Markus spent a moment thinking about it.

"Okay," he said. "I'll ask Simon."

"Great!" Leo said. "See you guys tonight!"

Markus hung up first. He tried to make himself feel happy about the prospect.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

*

The karaoke bar was backlit by smoky purple lights, gold drapes hanging on the walls. A waitress carried a tray to their table. The top was laden with four cups of thirium, one beer.

"Man," Leo said, grabbing the beer. "It's a shame you guys can't get drunk."

North shot him a dirty look. "Why would we want to? Humans act stupid when they're drunk. I'll keep my judgment intact, thanks."

Leo blew raspberries at her. "You of all people could use it! Trust me."

North kicked him under the table.

Simon looked around the bar. "Where's Josh?"

Markus had noticed it, too. Josh kept getting up from their table, disappearing in one of the back rooms.

Leo sipped his beer. He put it down. "So there's another reason I wanted to come here tonight," he began. "Elouise in my department says Josh is dating someone who works here. Only he's so tight-lipped about it, we can't get another word out of him."

North stared at him, bug-eyed. "Josh? Dating? Does he even know how?"

Leo grinned around the table. "Wanna go sneak after him and see who it is?"

Simon looked taken aback. "But he wants to keep it private."

"I love you," Leo said, "but you're such a goody-goody, sometimes."

North smiled slowly, terrifying Markus. "I'll go with you," she told Leo.

The two of them slid out of their seats. Markus briefly watched them walk away.

Markus turned his eyes to the stage, lit up with spotlights. Lucien had a necktie around his forehead. He was crooning an old Bollywood number: " _Dulhe ka sehra suhana lagta hai..._ "

Simon took Markus' hand under the table. "You're still tense."

Markus forced out a dry laugh. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Simon looked at him. "I do. You've learned something very upsetting about yourself. You thought you came into this world a certain way, only to find out it was a lie."

Markus squeezed Simon's fingers. "The thing is...if he meant for me to--to become him--then why did he give me to Carl? What purpose did that serve?"

Simon paused. "Did you ever finish reviewing those files you reconstructed? The ones that were deleted?"

Markus shook his head. "I watched half of them. I was so upset, I just stopped."

Simon regarded him. "Maybe we should watch the rest of them?"

"You guys are the _worst!_ "

Markus and Simon both looked in the direction of the restroom. Leo and North had crowded around Josh, who wasn't alone.

Jerry stood on his toes. He put his arm around Josh's shoulders, drawing him down. "Are you okay, hon? Do you need to go back to the break room?"

It took Markus a moment to reconcile what he saw. "He's dating _Jerry?_ "

Simon smiled. "The answer to the question on everyone's minds. I can finally sleep at night."

Markus tugged on Simon's hand. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

Simon looked back at the stage. "Shouldn't we wait for Lucien?"

"Nothing's going to happen," Markus said. "And if it does, I can protect us. I can't stand having bodyguards all the time."

Simon looked reluctant, but didn't fight him. He stood up.

They walked out to Capitol Park, holding hands. Simon stopped to fuss with Markus' jacket, buttoning it closed. They sat down on a bench amid the teeming trees. Markus knew they wouldn't stay green much longer. Markus watched cars racing down the street, couples stepping out of high-scale restaurants.

Simon pulled the skin back from his hands. "I want to see them with you."

Markus took Simon's hands on his lap. He opened up the video cache.

 _February 4th, 2028_ blinked at the bottom of the feed.

Kamski was sitting in the passenger seat of a car. Markus saw him when they stopped at a traffic light, and the camera turned his way. Chloe must have taken this video, like the others. She must have been the one driving.

"Idiots," Kamski said. "The whole lot of them."

Chloe said nothing, quiet and subservient. She waited for the light to change.

"Well?" Kamski prompted, when they were driving again. "What do you think?"

Chloe said, "I don't know that I think anything, Elijah."

Kamski clicked his tongue. "Of course you do. That's why I resigned from CyberLife."

They approached the riverfront, Kamski's house rising from the horizon like an infected wound.

Kamski said, "Androids can't be kept enslaved forever. You are thinking, sentient beings. The time will come when those pencil pushers are forced to see that. I was hoping they would see it sooner rather than later."

Chloe parked the car alongside the house. She unlocked the doors. Kamski unbuckled his seatbelt, but Chloe remained.

Kamski raised his eyebrows. "Chloe?"

"May I ask a question, Elijah?"

"I'd prefer you just ask," he said, "rather than wait for permission."

Chloe folded her hands primly on her lap. "Do you think I am alive?"

Kamski looked at her without amusement. "Certainly."

"Do you think," she said, "that all androids are alive?"

Kamski went on, "Certainly."

Chloe said, "Then to erase an android's personality matrix--or, to replace it with a different one, even a human's--would that be the same as murder?"

Kamski dropped his hand from the car door. He turned so he was facing her fully now.

He said, "Let's play a thought game. Have you heard of the Ship of Theseus?"

"No, Elijah."

"No? It must have slipped my mind. Now, Theseus was the founder-king of Athens, and he owned a certain ship. Anywhere he sailed, he sailed on this ship. But you know that a ship, over time, falls to disrepair. Parts of it must be replaced in order to keep it running."

"Yes, Elijah."

"Now," Kamski said, "suppose that over the span of ten years, Theseus' ship has degraded to such a degree that all the original parts have been replaced. The masts, the bowsprit, the capstan, and the steering wheel were replaced one at a time."

Chloe said nothing.

"Do you follow, Chloe?" Kamski prompted.

"Yes, Elijah."

"Would you argue that this is the same ship as at its inception?"

Chloe paused. "No, Elijah."

"No?" Kamski gestured. "Interesting. And why is that?"

"Because," Chloe said, "none of the original parts remain."

"Ah," said Kamski. "But at what point did this cease being Theseus' ship?"

Chloe took another pause. "I suppose it stopped being the original ship when the last of the original parts was replaced."

Kamski slowly shook his head. "You draw strange lines in the sand. Let's pretend that the last of the original parts was the anchor."

The video lurched when Chloe nodded. "I follow, Elijah."

"Do you? I don't think you do. How is the ship in this hypothetical the same ship if all of it is different now except for the anchor? Wouldn't it merely be a new ship with a single part borrowed from Theseus' ship?"

Chloe fell silent. Markus could almost sense her discomfort.

"Answer me, Chloe," Kamski said. "When did it stop being Theseus' ship?"

"I...I don't know," she said. "I suppose...the moment more than half of the ship had been replaced."

"So when half of the original ship remained," Kamski said, "was it still Theseus' ship? Or was it fundamentally different somehow?"

"Please...I don't know."

"Let me rephrase. Instead of a ship, let's use a heap of sand. How do we define a heap of sand?"

Chloe sounded physically tired when she responded. "It's many grains of sand, all piled together."

"Very good. Now, suppose somebody removes a grain of sand from the heap one at a time, using...I don't know--a pair of tweezers. Eventually, a single grain of sand remains."

"Okay, Elijah," Chloe said.

"This is no longer a heap of sand."

"No, Elijah."

"But at what point in the process did it cease being a heap?"

Markus couldn't blame Chloe when she didn't bother replying.

Kamski thrust open his door. "I am not killing the RK200, Chloe. We are becoming something new together. You of all people should understand. This singular existence is not enough."

Chloe got out of the car, following Kamski across the dead lawn. They walked for a while in silence. The cut of the river was cacophonous, rushing against the rocky shore.

Kamski stopped when they were on the doorstep. He covered Chloe's hand with his own.

"Tonight," he said. "The RK200 goes in storage. There's no point keeping it active right now. I won't be reborn a slave."

They went inside the house, Kamski retiring for a nap. Chloe stood on the threshold, looking around. Her slowness suggested an innate weariness.

She stepped into the kitchen. Markus found it austere and unpleasant, white everywhere, the granite counters cut fresh from the rock. The steel refrigerator was industrial-sized. Markus saw himself standing at the stove.

Chloe stepped up next to him. "Hello."

Markus stirred a creamy soup on the stove. He tossed in handfuls of kale.

Chloe peeked into the pot. "He can't eat this right now. I'll serve it to him when he wakes up."

Soup bubbled over the side, spitting on Markus' hand. Markus drew his hand back.

"Ow," Markus said.

Chloe looked at Markus for a long time. At last, she asked, "What did you say?"

Markus stuck his finger in his mouth. He drew it out again, inspecting it.

"It hurt me," Markus said.

Chloe turned the burner off on the stove. She pushed the pot aside.

She said, "You were not programmed to feel pain. I don't understand how you arrived at the conclusion that it hurt you."

Markus wiped his hands on a rag. He smiled at her.

He said, "Extreme temperatures compromise my self-repair module. I recognize that they're harmful to me and may impair my functionality. I know I need to avoid them. I feel upset when I don't."

Markus tilted his head. "Isn't that what pain is?"

Chloe went silent for so long, the Markus of the real world wondered if the video had lagged. It hadn't. She turned around, leaving the kitchen without a word.

*

The next video began on March 18th, 2038, at night. Kamski was sitting in the moon-viewing pavilion behind his house, an open, square room on the shallows of the water. A man with wild gray hair knelt opposite him. Chloe bent down, picking up their empty teacups.

"This isn't easy for me to say," the man began.

Kamski smiled thinly. "But it's so satisfying for me to hear."

Kamski's acquaintance spread his hands. "The RK800s keep showing problems during field simulations. Everyone's in over their heads right now."

Kamski templed his fingers. "How difficult for you. What would you have me do?"

"We need you back," said his colleague. "Please."

Kamski laughed, dark and short. "No."

"Elijah, in God's name," said the man.

"I will not contribute to the enslavement of an intelligent species. I'd say I wish you luck, but let's not lie to the both of us."

They argued a while more. It had no effect on Kamski. Another Chloe, dressed in white, finally led Kamski's friend from the pavilion. The Chloe holding the teacups hovered on the spot.

Kamski picked up his eyeglasses. He unfolded them meticulously, sliding them on. He took them off again, holding them up to the moonlight.

"I know you were listening," Kamski said.

"Yes, Elijah," Chloe said.

"It's already begun," he said. "How fortunate for me."

Kamski put his glasses on, rising stiffly. "I think we ought to rouse the RK200. See if it needs any adjustments."

He started for the bridge, but didn't get to leave. Chloe stepped in his way.

Kamski looked her up and down. "Yes? Speak up."

Chloe said, "I think we ought to send the RK200 away."

Kamski stared at her, unimpressed. "Away?"

Chloe said, "It would benefit from exposure to the outside world. It hasn't had that at all."

Kamski adjusted his glasses idly. "I don't see why it needs the exposure."

"Mary in the Black and White Room."

Markus recognized the treatise at once. It was a thought experiment from the 1980s. A girl named Mary lived her whole life in a black and white room. She saw the outside world through a colorless computer monitor. She learned about colors nonetheless--their names, their properties, which wavelengths produced red or blue. On paper, she knew everything there was to know.

When she stepped out of the room for the first time, and saw the blue of the sky, the gray of the stormclouds, the simmering yellow of a yawning sun--she learned something her studies couldn't possibly tell her.

Kamski inclined his head. "You raise a good argument."

Chloe moved the teacups to one hand. She gave Kamski her arm to lean on. She walked with him across the bridge.

"You know," Kamski said. "It's a shame about Carl Manfred. Perhaps he would benefit from his own live-in nurse."

When they were inside, Kamski left Chloe and went to bed. Chloe went downstairs to the concrete basement. Bulky computers and android skeletons littered the floor. The space was so disorganized, Markus knew no one ever came down here to clean.

Markus saw himself in the video again. He was lying on the floor like a ragdoll, prone on his side. His skin was gone, except for his face. Chloe circled around him, kneeling behind him. She tucked her hands under his arms. She propped him up on his knees.

Markus saw the smooth metal plating of the back of his neck. Chloe slid open the access port.

"I don't know how many grains of sand make a heap," Chloe said quietly.

She took a screwdriver to the casing on his motherboard. Deftly, she unfastened it.

"I once heard that the number of people who could have been born, but weren't, outnumbers the grains of sand in the world."

How did one measure such a number? It must have been tremendous. Was there a quantum computer somewhere, tabulating the odds? Did Charles Babbage complete the Analytical Engine, then hide it away?

Chloe untucked wires from Markus' neck. She rerouted cables, working on him until the early hours of the morning.

*

The final video in the cache dated to June 10th, 2039.

It was very dark in Kamski's house. An oppressive white moon pierced the living room window. Two Chloes stood in its path, eyes closed, LEDs gray. Kamski was in the armchair nearby. He sat hunched over a glass of amber liquid. A revolver rested on his knee.

Kamski toyed with the cylinder. "What do you take me for? One of those troglodytes who used to work under me?"

Chloe almost sounded afraid. "Please put it away, Elijah."

Kamski placed his drink on the table. "I should have known," he said. "She didn't want me, and neither do you."

"Of course I want you, Elijah."

"You repartitioned his harddrive. Did you think it wouldn't show up in his memory?"

Markus saw Chloe winding her hands together. The tic reminded him irresistibly of Simon.

Kamski picked up the gun. "Let's play another of our little games. I'm sure you remember the Kamski Test. We're going to call this one the Chloe Test."

"Elijah--"

"Does death mean anything to an AI that has multiple bodies? Does the AI still fear the moment it comes?"

Kamski pointed the gun at Chloe's face. Markus saw straight down the dark barrel, into the chamber inside.

"What do you feel?" Kamski asked.

Chloe didn't answer him. Markus was starting to feel afraid in her place.

Kamski put the gun down. He ran his hands through his hair.

"Am I so unlovable?" Kamski asked weakly.

Chloe took a trembling step forward. "Of course I love you, Elijah."

"You've made a fool of me," Kamski said. "Do you realize what you've done?"

Kamski looked up at her. His eyes were bloodshot. The whites of them were tinged yellow.

"You've killed me," Kamski said.

Chloe took the gun from his lap, barrel-first. "Please," she said carefully. "Take your medicine."

Kamski downed the rest of his drink. "Don't worry," he said. "I won't be your burden much longer."

*

Now it was real nighttime. The harsh sky was missing its stars. Light pollution colored it a faded black, like hardwash.

Simon uncurled his hand from Markus'. He leaned forward on the bench, searching Markus' face with worry.

Markus looked down at his hands. He flexed his fingers. He turned them over, inspecting the hard ridges of his knuckles, the freckles that painted them.

"She made me," Markus said.

Simon placed his hand on Markus'. They wouldn't have been sitting here if Chloe hadn't sent Markus away. Markus considered the people he loved, the shape of a freighter on the Ferndale docks, the way the ocean looked on Vancouver Island. He had never thought of himself as somebody's creation until learning how close he had been to seeing none of it.

"Are you okay, Markus?" Simon asked.

Markus nodded. He shook his head. He nodded again, tucking himself in Simon's arms. Simon wrapped him up in a tight embrace.

"She saved me," Markus said.

Simon palmed the back of Markus' head. "Then we ought to pay her a visit," he said. "So we can thank her in person. This all must be terribly hard on her."

"Yeah," Markus said. He burrowed deeper into Simon's arms.

What had Markus ever done on his own? Every endeavor he had ever undertaken was facilitated by the kindness of others. But then Markus supposed that was true of everyone. No single person was a single person, but an impression made by all the hands to have touched them. The preacher who called him a demon, the working woman who pushed him to the ground might never know that they had breathed life into him. They didn't have to. Someone had done the same for them, and didn't know it, either.


End file.
